Formation
by Arcadia Sterling
Summary: There's a question that Lois Lane is determined to answer, a dilemma that Clark Kent isn't sure how to solve, and a superhero whom Lex Luthor will bring down to earth. By any means necessary. Proper sequel to Crucible. DISCONTINUED. SERIES TO BE REBOOTED.
1. Chapter 1

Formation begins! If you read the authors notes as I was posting Crucible, you might have an idea of just how quickly this story pooped itself into my lap (4 months). I don't think the quality suffered too much for the blistering pace I wrote it at. It still feels disjointed to me because I only just got into the habit of writing broad outlines and planning things out well ahead of time. Still some growing pains here. But like Crucible, Formation does everything it needs to do and hopefully it will be entertaining at the same time.

I think the update schedule can stay to a Once A Week thing, but that could change in the long run. I like to keep a gap in between where I'm posting and where I'm writing, but I haven't exactly been working on Whiplash lately. Not that I'm exactly eager to pull myself away from the Busman's Holiday, though. That one's been rattling around in my head a bit longer.

Today marks the 5th birthday of Shatterpoint. This little tangent universe of mine has come quite a ways since 2013 and I'm very pleased that I've reached a point where I can share it. Buckle up, kids, and enjoy the ride.

* * *

 **Shatterpoint: Formation**

Chapter One:

Summer had come to Metropolis, hot and brilliant with a fairly blistering average of eighty degrees. June had been mild and pleasant, July muggy and stormy, and August was the very personification of the dog days of summer. Humidity threatened rain every other day and sometimes there was a sprinkle or two, but the typical August drought never truly broke until late in the month.

If there was one thing that Clark had come to love about the summer, it was hitting the endless blue skies at one hundred miles per hour.

A cloudless morning had unfolded over Metropolis while the warm tropical winds and the cooler Canadian breezes fought for supremacy, all in all presenting a pleasant contrast to the rising heat of the sun that crept up along the skyscrapers and spilled into the avenues and cross-streets of New Troy.

Clark sat at the umbrella'd tables outside the brand new Comet Cafe, sipping on a small cup of lemonade that he hadn't been able to resist. They had touted it as freshly juiced and he had been able to smell the lemon rinds in the waste bin. The lemonade was the perfect combination of sweet and tart, and a good complement to the hearty blueberry muffin that had caught his eye.

The Comet Cafe had a coveted spot right next to the main entrance of Planet Square, the spotless floor to ceiling windows a better advertisment than any brightly colored flyer. Since its opening two months ago, it had become known for its good coffee, savory sandwiches, and its award-winning Comet Cake Pops, but their summer menu was really quite something. The highlights were the chilled fruit, yohgurt smoothies, and fresh lemonade.

The whole of Planet Square was in spectacular form. The cobblestones had been hosed down early this morning, the alternating strips of black and white gleaming in the summer sun. Japanese red maple trees grew in a ring along the outside of the square, their crowns spreading wide. Though green now, the leaves would turn a fiery shade of red come autumn. The centerpiece, a large bowl fountain featuring a bronze cast of the solar system, had been scrubbed and polished and currently burbled along merrily.

When the sun went down, that was when the square would truly look its best. Long strings of outdoor fairy lights had been hung between the trees; they would be turned on after dark in a display of colors. The fountain would glow silver and blue, and the front of Rocket's (a fifties nostalgia diner chain) would reflect it all back like a disco ball, so the square would appear to be lit up with stars of its own.

At barely eight-thirty in the morning, the pentagonal square bustled with people. It was a common pedestrian thoroughfare and located, more or less, in the heart of Downtown. Though most of the ground-level shops were not open for business yet, the _Daily Planet_ building took up one whole side by itself and all of the shops were topped off by office buildings that pushed upwards into skyscrapers. The tourists were streaming in and out of the Challenger Bike Rentals and parents stopped their very small children from trying to get into the fountain.

Clark didn't pay much attention to the pedestrians and bikers who hurried to and fro, and the tourists who meandered past at a slower pace. He had delicious lemonade to enjoy, news to read, and the chance to revel in the slightly smug satisfaction that Lois was late.

At least fifteen minutes late.

Lois was rarely late. Very rarely indeed. Arriving _early_ was something she considered a matter of duty - raised on the doctrine of _"To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late"_. Punctuality was as close to godliness as cleanliness. Between her military base upbringing and her career as a news reporter, she had never grown out of that. A late arrival was simply unacceptable in her book, even with a good excuse.

After all, only the early bird got the scoop.

Fortunately for Clark, he had never developed the habit of being late, even with his "extracurricular" activities. One of the advantages about being able to run five blocks in the blink of an eye, he supposed.

He was going to rub this in her face a little. Just a little bit.

All the same, Clark was in no hurry to go anywhere. Their appointment wasn't for another hour.

He scrolled through his newsfeed. It had been a fairly tame week in the news. The space shuttle _Endeavour_ had launched on its twentieth flight. Tiger Woods had won another PGA Championship. There had been a massive earthquake in Peru. And the world had noted the recent passing of eighty-six year old Al Pratt, retired nuclear physicist and a former member of the Justice Society of America, Atom.

Locally, Metropolis native Jefferson Pierce had announced his intention to make a bid for a spot on Team America for the Beijing Olympics next year. The re-construction of the West River island was off to a smooth start. Guardian had been reported making rounds through the Suicide Slums. The Special Crimes Unit had broken up what had resembled a burgeoning metahuman gang. Superman was trending. Luthor was bald and morally questionable.

Frankly, a normal week for Metropolis.

 _Lois would argue that just means we're due to get bombarded real soon._ Clark knew. And she would be right. The world just didn't want to stay quiet for very long anymore. Not when everyone whispered that superheroes were coming back.

"Hey Smallville!"

 _Aaand speak of the devil._

Clark looked up from his phone and waved. Lois was approaching across the plaza from the _Daily Planet_ building, a hand still raised in hello. Summer having long since hit the city, she had whipped out all of her hot weather best (which really was only slightly different from her cold weather best, but semantics).

Today she wore a black pencil skirt and a cord belt that was more fashion than function. The dark colors contrasted sharply with the bright red blouse (short-sleeved, lace-patterned, turtleneck collar). Mirrored sunglasses, bare arms and barely visible socks and a short cable-chain necklace that flashed and sparkled in the sunlight. Her black hair was tied up in a sleek bun to keep it off the back of her neck. The bold green messenger bag rested on her hip. An expensive designer brand, it had been a _"Yay me I got the story of the year"_ gift to herself after losing her old purse in a helicopter crash.

"You're late, Lois." Clark informed her, grinning, as she strolled up to his table. "Very late. Why..." He made a a show of checking a watch he didn't have. "Look at the time, it's past eight-thirty. I thought we agreed to meet at eight-fifteen."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in, farm boy. I don't get up with the sun." Lois rolled her eyes. "They're resurfacing the Hob's Bay Highway. Getting off the Queensland Bridge was a nightmare. I had every motorist from the intersection up to the exit ramp honking at me. Are you drinking that?"

She pointed at his lemonade and Clark made a 'have at it' gesture. Lois snatched up the cup and eyeballed its contents for a moment like she wasn't entirely convinced it was just lemonade, then drained a long gulp out of it.

Whereas Clark rode the J-train with a transfer to the C-train every morning and sat in the relative comfort of the air conditioned interiors, Lois braved the heat and the traffic and the road hazards to bike commute into the city during the warm months. Metropolis was having its usual summer heat wave. August was never a pleasant time of year to be navigating rush-hour traffic. Of course she was thirsty. Any water she'd brought along must have been lukewarm by now.

"What time's the meeting?" Lois asked.

Clark knew that she already knew the answer, but replied anyways. "Nine-thirty sharp, but we do have to meet with Detective Jones by nine. Just getting out to Stryker's and through security is going to be a process." he said.

"Good thing I'm wearing my lucky shoes today." Lois commented.

She turned her ankles so Clark could get a better glimpse of the black pumps that had an iridescent glimmer to them. Lois always wore them when she felt like the day was going to be a good day or when she felt like it _needed_ to be a good day. Friday was a day that always felt like a good day, but every bit of good luck helped.

"Is that your lucky tie?" she asked, pointing to the blue and crimson strip of fabric.

It was the only truly silk tie that Clark owned. His father had bought it for him because _'every man needs to own at least one good silk tie'_. His limited budget forced him to stick to imitation silks that didn't cost half as much. It had felt appropriate to wear the good one today, seeing as they were going out visiting.

"I suppose so. I wore it to graduation." he said.

"Ah, the graduation tie. I guess that does make it lucky." Lois nodded. "C'mon, if we're going to make that nine o'clock, we should head out. It's feeding time for the out-of-towners and they'll be swarming. It's even worse than last year. Say, you've never seen Metropolis during tourist season, have you?"

"I haven't even lived here a full year yet." Clark reminded her, gathering his satchel and pocketing his phone.

"Yeah, that's right. Heh, keep forgetting that."

He would take that as a compliment, of a sort. Lois Lane, city-slicker extraordinaire, would never really let him forget that he was from the Kansas boonies, but if she had momentarily blanked on that fact, then he was probably doing a good job at adapting to city life.

She was also right about the tourist breakfast rush. People from out of town and from _way_ out of town walked just a tad too slowly down the sidewalks, staring up at the skyscrapers with open-mouthed awe. There were drawling Texan accents and rapid-fire French-Canadian and flat Midwest tones and those were just the ones that spoke English. They were clad in flip-flops, khaki shorts, and blue T-shirts, and if they weren't staring up at the sky, they were consulting their guide books. Smartphones were brandished this way and that by.

Metropolis wasn't the premiere vacation spot, but Mount Arvon was just down the peninsula and the Pictured Rocks were a reasonable day trip away. The city itself sat on the shores of Lake Superior and the tourism board had taken care to maintain the beaches. At this time of year, the lake waters were a pleasant, if slightly chilly, sixty degrees.

Oh. And Superman.

If the tourists weren't here for the natural wonders and many waterfalls of the Upper Peninsula, they had come hoping for a glimpse of Superman.

 _A good day is when I don't have to put in an appearance._ Clark thought.

He was very conscious of several facts. The first was that Superman was not, in any way, law enforcement. Clark restricted his activities to anything that would conceivably fall under the Good Samaritan law and tried not to step on the Met P.D.'s toes. He might have had fantastic abilities not seen around these parts in two decades, but he was also a Metropolis citizen who paid his taxes and put his pants on one leg at a time like everyone else (he didn't actually have to, but he did anyways). Being a hero _-_ \- or at least being loosely defined by the definition of 'hero' _-_ \- didn't mean he was permitted to break the law.

The second fact that he had his fair share of detractors and they were making their voices heard online. Loudly. They were the obsessive kind too; the kind that watched and analyzed his every move and sometimes wrote long paragraphs about what he was doing with his hands. The kind who lay in wait for the instant he did anything wrong.

Clark would rather not give them any reason to strike out at him or they would never stop.

And quite frankly, he didn't want people to lose sight of the fact that the Metropolis Police Department was highly effective and very skilled. They could more than adequately protect the city without his help.

"So why now, y'think?" Lois wondered, dispersing his thoughts. "Nine months in jail and _now_ she wants to talk to a reporter? Why _me_ , specifically?"

"You are the one who helped put her there." Clark pointed out. "And they're shipping her out to Gotham tomorrow first thing in the morning, so I suppose it is her last chance."

Lois let out a thoughtful hum, but with a grumbling undertone that meant she didn't like the shape of this situation. But it involved Sofia Gigante, which had made it a bit suspect from the start.

Though she had only been partially responsible for masterminding a plan that would have destroyed Metropolis (called the Near Apocalypse of '06), Sofia Gigante had taken full responsibility for it. Instead of going through the process of a trial by jury, she had gone right into a plea agreement; pleading guilty and spilling every ounce of information on her criminal network in Metropolis in exchange for a reduced sentence and a transfer to Blackgate Penitentiary in Gotham. Had that woman been anyone else, Lois was sure such terms would have been rejected as _too lenient_ for what she had done.

But Sofia was the only daughter of Carmine "the Roman" Falcone, Gotham's premiere crime-lord.

Sofia would be out on the streets again in five years. Lois was certain of that.

The downtown precinct of Metropolis P.D. wasn't an unreasonable walking distance from the _Daily Planet_ building. It was not a walk one might feel inclined to make when the weather was poor, but today was fantastic and looking up. The summer sunlight glinted off the steel skyscrapers, flashing off plate-glass windows.

They made good time to the station despite wading upstream against the tourists and Clark held the door open for Lois, and they entered the bustling lobby. Detective Jones was waiting for them just inside. He was a tall black man with a shiny bald head and a heavy brow. They had met him last year during the opening remarks of the almost disaster when Jason Trask (the former head of the department formerly known as Bureau 39) had come stomping around screaming about alien fugitives.

At the time, Clark had gotten the sense that the tall detective was more than what he appeared to be. Lois had later confided in him that Detective Jones was most assuredly a metahuman ( _"He whammy-hammered my brain, Smallville!"_ ). But even nine months later, Clark still got the feeling that there was something rather _odd_ about the man that went further than just telepathy and telekinesis.

"Detective Jones, it's good to see you again." Clark said politely, reaching to exchange a handshake. Just because the detective gave him a jumpy feeling was no reason to be impolite.

"Mr. Kent, same." Jones nodded in acknowledgement. "Ms. Lane."

"Detective Whammy-hammer." Lois squeezed his hand.

Jones smiled a bit ruefully. "You are never going to allow me to live that one down, are you?"

"I don't care how altruistic your intentions were, you whammy-hammered my brain." Lois said pointedly, pointing at her head. "No one gets to do that to my brain and then live it down."

"Then I shall make it up to you." Jones held out a moderately large file folder like a peace offering. "This is everything that can be released to the public now that legal entanglements are no longer an issue."

"Ooh, gimme!" The reporter snatched the folder away with eager hands. She had been reporting on this story for as long as it had been happening, though only because Perry knew that he'd never be able to stop her. She leafed through the first few pages and a grin cracked her face. It was a particularly smug sort of grin that most people around the _Planet_ called the Grinch Smile. The smile that Lois gave whenever she got a wonderful, awful idea.

"Well Detective Jones, I would say this early birthday present has gone a ways into mending the bridge between us." she said, fanning herself with the folder.

Jones smiled, pleased. "Shall we head off?"

He gestured for them to follow and led them across the lobby to another, less public exit. It led back out into the hot morning and into the employee parking lot around the side of the building. There was an SUV waiting for them at the curb. Once settled in the back, Lois opened the folder on her knees and began reading the contents. After a minute or two of Clark reading over her shoulder, she moved the folder between them so he didn't have to lean so close.

It was _incredibly_ distracting with his chest so close to her eyes.

Stryker's Island Penitentiary was located in the bend of Hob's Bay, where the shoreline curved north to meet with the Schuster and Carter Rivers. It was most easily visible from Little Bohemia to the south and the Suicide Slums to the north. There were no bridges connecting the island to the mainland. It was one of the oldest operating prisons in the nation; a maximum security facility that housed some of the worst criminals Metropolis had ever seen.

Stryker's had been built around the eighteen-fifties, when the overflow of predominately Irish immigrants had been shuttled westward out of cities like New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. Then named Fort Hunter, the small city had been a bustling lake-port of merchant trade and commerce. There had been plenty of jobs to be had, but not enough to support the ten thousand immigrants who shuttled inland from the coast. The young city not been immune to the growing bigotry and intolerance against the Irish, whom were accused of stealing jobs from the local citizens.

Naturally, tempers over this had flared on both sides, a lot of drinking had happened, and there had been a bit of a riot. Arresting _all_ of the belligerants had pushed the capacity limits of Saint Dorfman Prison, resulting in the proposal to finally make good use out of that lonely hunk of island out in the bay.

The Metropolis P.D. had been very busy in the past nine months bringing down every corner of the crime network. They had crippled an enormous meth operation last year, but with Sofia's information, the rest of it was coming down like a landslide. Nearly of the Gigante family assets had been seized and a good number of arrests had been made. The list provided by the detective obviously wasn't complete (there were some lieutenants who had slipped through the gap), but it contained a fair number names that drew a triumphant noise from Lois; people she had called out on doing more than just dabbling, but not enough evidence against them for a proper conviction.

"If they're seized Gigante's bank accounts, what's the money going to be used for?" Lois wondered.

"That information was not imparted to me." Jones answered. "However, I imagine the money will be put towards the city. Reparations to the victims of her network. Additional funding to the West River project."

"I'm sure there are also some charities that would benefit from a generous donation." Clark added. "I think after all this time of harming the city, Gigante's last action should be to contribute positively to its well-being."

There was one Gigante bank account that hadn't been seized, but it had been frozen, audited, and then re-activated. It was a trust fund belonging to Gigante's teenaged step-sons. They were out of the country, attending a boarding school in Switzerland and spending the holidays with their uncle in Italy. A few phone calls had revealed that Vincenzo and Luigi hadn't even been back to America in several years, much less had they actually contacted their step-mother in that same time period. The trust fund had only ever been used for school tuition and related expenses.

"Hah! I knew it!" Lois crowed, stabbing a finger at the papers in the folder. "I knew it! I was right! I'm gonna rub this one in your face, wench!"

"Right about what?" Clark asked.

"About the Gigantes having something to do with the corruption in the mayor's office! Look at that!" Lois brandished the paper at her partner's face, so close that Clark's eyes crossed trying to read the small print.

"I can't read that, Lois."

Lois frowned. "I can't tell, are you near-sighted or far-sighted?"

"Well, I can't read anything that's half an inch from from my eyes." Clark pointed out, adjusting his glasses. They were thick-framed, thick-lensed, and tinted with just enough lead to turn his naturally bright blue eyes to a less obvious navy blue. They also stopped his heat and x-ray vision, and took the edge of his infared vision.

"A few years back, when I was a twenty-year old intern with a potato camera, a ranty blog, and no credibility, I wrote up a test article about the corruption in the city government. How good ol' Mayor Berkowitz was letting the Gigante family run wild because they were paying him for a blind eye. It got rejected. The content was true, it was everything else that was crap. I had no finesse."

"I can't imagine." Clark said. He really couldn't.

"So I published it on my blog instead and got a big ranty reaction from my self-proclaimed arch-enemy." Lois made a face. Lacy Warfield, daughter dearest to the _Metropolis Star_ 's editor-in-chief. "I don't remember a lot about what she said, but it boiled down to me being overly paranoid and that I was the only person who thought it was _awfully_ funny that the Gazzo family was taking such massive hits while the Gigantes went untouched. Needless to say, it gave me the impression that A: the _Star_ was owned by Berkowitz back then and B: wenchy-wench was and still is that stupid."

She finished with a scowl.

"So, this info is ready to be released to the public, right?" she asked Jones, just to be extra sure about that. Already, her fingers itched to get an article underway.

Jones nodded.

"Awesome." Lois grinned in a gleeful, manic way. There was something to be said about watching the last of Metropolis's organized crime crumble and knowing that she had set the wheels in motion. She had always hoped to make a significant change in the city's landscape, but she hadn't imagined it coming quite so early in her career, or being of this magnitude.

The trip to the ferry launch was only fifteen minutes with the traffic. They had to park the SUV, as no cars were permitted on the island. They were passed through security, Lois's bag was searched for contraband, and the two reporters were signed in and issued their visitor passes before they stepped onto the ferry. The escorting guard appeared and greeted the detective and gave the two reporters a run-down of the safety rules. The rules basically boiled down to 'don't interact with any of the prisoners except for the one you came here to visit and if you get taken hostage, you're sort of on your own'. It was the prison's way of covering its own ass if one of the visitors got too close to an inmate. The guards would protect the visitors but even they acknowledged that there was a line and if the visitor was stupid enough to step over that, then there was very little the guards could actually do.

With the formalities out of the way, the ferry shoved off.

There were only two ways to access the island prison. Mostly commonly, visitors took the ferry across the half-mile wide strait. But anyone of particular affluence could obtain permission to use the helicopter pad.

The island itself was about fifty acres square, and fairly level land. In order to make it sufficient for a prison, they had spent years piling dirt and rock and gravel along the beaches in order to create some kind of cliff-face and a foundation for the walls that had eventually gone up. Only the light house and the guard towers were visible above the rim of the nearly thirty-foot perimeter wall.

"Alcatraz." Clark said out of nowhere. "I just was thinking. It reminds me of Alcatraz. A little." he amended. "It's actually nothing like Alcatraz, but it's giving me the same vibe."

"One of the stops you made on your walkabout?" Lois inquired.

Clark nodded. He had done a bit of a world tour a few years back, wandering across the Eurasian continent in the name of a soul search. Though he had come away no more enlightened about himself, he had certainly become more enlightened about the world and the people in it. San Francisco had been one of the stops he'd made before leaving America for Vladivistock.

The boat arrived at the pier with a bump and they waited while it was moored. Beside the pier was the helicopter pad where a private chopper had touched down. Further up the walk was a pair of tall, looming iron gates topped in concertina wire and a guard watched dutifully (hopefully) from the adjacent tower.

"I've only been here once before and it still gives me the chills." Lois commented, as the main gate ground open slowly to admit them.

She stared warily at the tall walls that lined either side of the front walk. They were set ten feet back from the pavement but they still seemed to loom. Guard towers and floodlights were mounted at equal intervals. If any prisoner somehow made it through the front door and tried to rush the gate, they would running a gauntlet trying to make it. Behind those walls, Clark knew, was the prison yard where the inmates were given four hours of free roam every day, two in the morning, and two in the afternoon.

Even though he _knew_ that there was at least twenty feet of space and two walls five feet thick separating them from Metropolis's worst (and knowing that he was bullet-proof), Clark still felt strangely unsafe.

He wondered if the feeling was worse for Lois who would be vulnerable to any bullets or shivs that came her way.

There was really only a thin veneer of control in prisons. The truth was, it was the inmates who ultimately held all the power. They outnumbered the guards, would riot at the drop of a hat, and and anyone who could make palatable hooch out of mashed fruit, toothpaste, and ketchup was certainly capable of crafting a weapon out of whatever they could get their hands on.

Stryker's Island Penitentiary was a gray, unwelcoming place inside and out. The guards wore dark blue and the inmates wore Day-glo orange and there was a general sense that things were only _just_ under control. Lois and Clark were not paraded past any cells, but instead were lead down a long hall colored an ugly green color that seemed to suck up the light and make the place gloomier than it was.

There were gray doors set into the wall and out of one of them where two guards stood by emerged an older man, followed by a team of lawyers in tidy suits. He was taller than Clark by a visible two inches. His brown hair was smoothed down with just starting to show touches of gray at his temples. Dark, alert eyes examined the pair and the instant they flashed in recognition, he put out a hand to impede their progression. Lois had to come to an abrupt halt, bumping into Clark behind her.

"Miss Lane, I thought it was you." he said in a tone that was _just_ this side of cordial, his accent nominally Italian with shadings of something Jersey. He had the same thick brow, heavy jaw, and sharp nose as Gigante. This was Sofia's father, Carmine Falcone.

"Look who came up all the way from Gotham." Lois said coolly. "I guess you really don't worry about someone taking over while your back is turned."

Clark hoped she was not about to start provoking the mafia don because the last thing she needed was to further entrench herself against one of the more powerful men on the east coast. The three guards present shifted uneasily and one eased off the locking strap off his gun and Detective Jones rested a hand on the firearm at his belt. The five lawyers shared nervous looks.

"I trust my capos to keep things in order in my absence." Falcone replied, his tone turning cold. He scanned Lois up and down, and gave a very tiny frown. "Sofia has told me stories about you, Miss Lane. I am almost gratified to see that they're not exaggerated."

Lois smirked. "I helped put a _Falcone_ behind bars. That might as well make me a Gotham folk hero."

"I assure you that the city is not singing your praises." Falcone informed her. "All the same, well played, Miss Lane." he added, nodding his head in a respectful gesture. Even he could admire her guts and determination. It was a shame that she was just too moralistic.

He held out his hand for her to shake. Lois looked at it askance, and then returned with a crushing handshake. Falcone didn't offer his hand to Clark, but acknowledged him with another nod and then gestured for his lawyers to follow. When the crime-lord was out of earshot, Lois rubbed her arms.

"Errgh, you can _smell_ the Gotham on him." she complained, shuddering all over like she was trying to shake off a bug.

"Sort of a dusty, pollution smell, isn't it." Clark commented.

"Rotten corruption smell, more like." Lois shook her hand again and started to wipe it on her blouse.

But Clark had been quite literally able to smell the soiled city on the Italian man. A little more than a dusty pollution smell; the actual, physical trace of the city clinging to the man's clothes that would never really come out. A mixture of industry, vehicle exhaust, algae bloom, and a vague, lingering stink of mold.

"He seemed... polite." Detective Jones commented, referring to Falcone.

"I'm sure it was just for show." Clark said. He had done a little research on the mafia don this past week. The bad and unsavory stuff had stayed off the internet, but a little bit of jumping between the online biography and various news archives from Gotham had given Clark a pretty good idea what sort of individual Carmine Falcone was. Gotham's news was fraught with missing persons, usually of some importance and they were usually reported missing just before Falcone dodged something like a lawsuit or a criminal charge.

A man like that would be polite to his allies, but not to his enemies.

"Very much for show." Lois agreed. "Alright! Let's talk to the prisoner."

The guard let the two reporters into the visiting room to speak with Gigante. Nine months in prison didn't appear to have been too hard on her. She looked awful in Day-glo orange and her brown hair had been tied back from her face, further exposing the thick lines of her jaw and cheekbones and making her look even more like a man than before, but that was about all the indignity she had suffered. Her hands were cuffed to the table and she regarded Lois's arrival with a mild smile.

"Miss Lane, you look well." she said.

"You're being awfully polite to someone you tried to kill a few times." Lois commented, sitting down.

"Momma raised us to mind our manners all the time." the big woman said.

"Oh, where was all that civility when you sicced your guard dog on us?" Lois wondered acidly. "Hell's Gate Dock. What's his name _-_ -"

"Nam-Ek. Dr. Essex." Clark filled in.

"Dr. Essex, right. Never got the full story on what he was doing in the pleasure of your company." Lois went on, setting up her phone to begin recording. She also brought out her notebook.

"I don't believe it matters now." Gigante said. "Nam-Ek has vanished and his experiments are no more. Tomorrow, I return to the city of my birth to serve my sentence. I would like to begin, Ms. Lane. They have only given you an hour of my time."

"Actually, Hell's Gate docks is a good place to start." Lois said. "Now Clark here can read lips and he speaks a little Italian."

Gigante gave the other reporter a curious look.

"My Italian's rusty," Clark shrugged. "But you were worried about the guns being found. You said 'December' a few times, but I didn't know if you meant December the month or December a person."

"She would be more tolerable as a month on the calendar." Gigant grumbled. "December is a person. December Mannheim."

"Now we're getting somewhere." Lois commented. "Any relation to Bruno Mannheim or is that just a coincidence?"

"Coincidence, I suspect, but I've never met her in person." the former mafia queen admitted. "She was very resistant to the idea of meeting face to face. It led me to believe that she would have been very recognizeable. 'December Mannheim' may be a false name or else she is using a false public name."

Lois scribbled the name down and nudged Clark. "You didn't tell me that."

"Didn't seem important at the time." Clark replied.

Lois shrugged and turned back to Gigante. "Now if Clark here understood everything right, you were worried about the financial fall-out from the meth operation going bust. At the time I thought, 'isn't that funny she's worried about that'? The Gigante family didn't get powerful by being poor."

The mafia queen smirked. "Isn't it funny how deceiving appearances can be? It may not have seemed like it, but for the three years previous, we were actually in increasingly dire financial straits. Rocco's death had greater hiccups than I let anyone believe." she revealed. "Ms. Mannheim was referred to me by a third party and she approached me with an offer that had some very particular terms attached to it. Had I accepted right away, it would have destroyed my empire without you ever touching it. Initially, I turned her down.

"Evidently, Ms. Mannheim is not accustomed to being refused and assumed my refusal was tantamount to an attack on her person. Within a week of our meeting, she began to intercept my supply lines, sabotage my facilities, and put several of my best men in the ground. What she didn't destroy, she took control of. It was very clear that she planned to muscle me out.

"This went on for six months before I offered to re-negotiate. The new terms were more _-_ \- agreeable, but more insidious in the long run. Ms. Mannheim took a percentage of my profits and I became aware that her agents were collecting on the side. The meth operation you so gleefully crippled was an effort to recoup my losses."

Lois cringed a little. What she knew about the Falcone family extended to her Gotham contacts who liked to rant about whatever the hell was going on over there and what she had heard about Sofia Gigante after moving to Metropolis. The Falcones were not easy to muscle out. Gotham residents, for example, regarded attempts as a form of assisted suicide. Gigante may not have been as powerful nor as entrenched in Metropolis as her father was in Gotham, but the principle was the same. If you messed with any branch of the Falcone family, then you should expect the full brunt of the family tree to fall on top of you.

Anyone who succeeded in messing with the family had the right to consider themselves a force to be reckoned with.

"And this muscle..." Lois tapped her pen. "How big is her operation?"

"I'm inclined to believe it's smaller than she let on." Gigante said. "But she has firepower on her side, Miss Lane, and she knows how to use it. I encountered no more than six individuals who claimed to be working for her, but they were not normal."

"How so?" Clark prompted.

"Metahumans." Gigante answered, smiling darkly. "I've heard instances of professional bodybuilders bench-pressing upwards to eight hundred pounds. Ms. Mannheim's primary muscle was no bodybuilder but he still swung a thousand pound telephone pole at me. The same man was broadsided by a semi-truck in excess of seventy miles per hour. The semi-truck had to be scrapped; it had been bisected. The average healthy human can attain a footspeed of fifteen miles an hour. One of her girls ran after my car and caught up. While I was doing ninety on the highway."

Clark and Lois shared looks that would have been incredulous had it not been for the events of the last nine months.

"Have you ever told anyone about this before?" Clark asked.

"And who would I have told, Mr. Kent?" the mafia queen questioned. "This occurred three years prior to last November before the Man of Steel, as you call him, first appeared. What I saw was certainly the acts of a super-powered human, but I would not be responsible for rekindling the panic that once gripped this nation from coast to coast. I do have a limit and it stops well before plunging the entire nation into a blind panic about the reappearance of super-powered criminals."

Lois frowned. "Are you implying you _let_ yourself get arrested?"

The cuffs binding Gigante wrists to the table clinked as she spread her hands as if to say _'guilty'_.

"You actually _let_ yourself get arrested?!" Lois yelped incredulously.

"I had to pull my fat out of the fire somehow." Gigante admitted, grinning. "Make no mistake, Miss Lane. I knew I couldn't win this one. I don't have the means to fight someone who can heave a thirteen-thousand pound sailboat like a softball. I thought it best to cut my losses while I still had some dignity and leave myself to the far more tender mercies of the justice system.

"I had no idea what I was dealing with, Miss Lane. And quite frankly, neither does anyone else."

* * *

-0-

Fun fact: a big chunk of this chapter was actually pulled from the original draft of Crucible. Don't always hit 'delete' kids.


	2. Sensational Stories

Let me see. It went "friend's b-day" "site not working" and "didn't feel like it/got distracted" for the two Fridays previous. I got sucked into working on some original stories, which isn't actually a bad thing.

I'm also perfectly aware it's Saturday, but better late than never.

* * *

Chapter Two: Sensational Stories

"All right. Sofia Falcone Gigante, a powerful mafia queen and the only daughter of one of the greatest Italian mafia dons to grace the East Coast with his presence _-_ \- a ruthless brick wall who has crushed more competition than actual brick walls _-_ \- got spooked enough to decide that prison was the lesser of two evils."

That was Lois's summation of the interview once they had been deposited in front of Planet Square. The rest of the session had consisted of fact-checking, so Lois could clear up the information that didn't seem quite right and make sure everything was correct. What stuck out in their minds the most, however, was what Gigante had told them about her competition.

"Who is Bruno Mannheim?" Clark asked.

"You don't know? _-_ \- Nah, he's small potatoes." Lois reminded herself. "CEO of Mannheim Tech. Hardware manufacturer. Computers, phones, radios, music players. Makes a respectable donation to the children's hospital every year, but no big league competitor. It's all in the name, Smallville."

"The name?"

"Yeah, the name Mannheim has history in this town. Nineteen sixty-one, Moxie 'Boss' Mannheim led a mob-gang to take over Metropolis. It took sixty police officers to stop them. Boss Mannheim was acquitted of most of the charges for every reason you could imagine. Spent five years in jail. Whatever he got up to after that never made the papers. Our missus Mannheim could be the illegit daughter or she chose the name _because_ of its history." She nudged Clark. "Any thoughts on that in your head, farm boy?"

Clark usually had good observations. He might have been a hayseed farm boy from the boonies, but he could read people almost as well as she could.

"The latter, I think." Clark replied, after a moment of thought. "If she's refusing to meet in person, then she must be fairly recognizeable. Maybe she's a public face. A spokesperson, a politician, maybe even an actress. But she wants a fake name that can generate some respect right off the bat. So she links herself to the Mannheim name because it might be enough to get her foot in the door."

"And what does it say about December Mannheim, if she can spook a Falcone?" Lois wondered.

"More spooked by the people she has working for her." Clark corrected. "I suppose if you took them away, Ms. Mannheim would have much less weight to throw around."

"If Gigante is telling the truth." Lois nodded. She reached the door ahead of Clark and held it open for him.

"You don't think she is?"

"Well, she didn't get this far in life by being truthful."

"Let's assume that she _is_ being truthful. Just hypothetically." Clark suggested. "Hypothetically, why would Ms. Mannheim move in on Gigante's operations?"

"Easy. There's probably a bone to pick." Lois answered. "It's definitely easier to take shots at them when they establish away from Gotham. Ninety percent of that city sits in the Falcone pocket. Hypothetically, if you're a super-powered person, why would you team up with someone who's got the shadiness going on?"

"People turn to crime for a lot of reasons, Lois." Clark reminded her. The express elevator opened the moment he pressed the call button. "They have to eat. They need a roof over their heads. They're not always doing it for personal gain."

"Hypothetically, December Mannheim isn't motived by the bottom rung of Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs." Lois pressed the button for floor fifty-seven. "But hypothetically, her little gang of metahumans **is** motivated by that bottom rung."

"They're living on the streets, maybe. These powers are starting to emerge and they can't control them. They're scared, they don't know where to turn. Fear has driven them away from home. Maybe their parents actually turned them out." Clark guessed. He remembered exactly how he had felt when he'd first seen the ship that had brought him to Earth. He'd felt like his whole world had been knocked off orbit. "Then Ms. Mannheim comes along and offers them something. Shelter, food, control of their powers, and a safe environment. That's everything a teenager needs, right?"

"For the most part." Lois shrugged. "Stupid teenagers who don't see the difference between right and wrong. The question is, if Ms. Mannheim's morals are equal to or worse than Gigante's, and I'm voting on the latter, then why would the kids stick around once they've got her figured out?"

"Hypothetically, Ms. Mannheim convinced them she was doing the right thing." Clark suggested.

Lois mulled over that while the elevator car sped them up to the fifty-seventh floor. People turned to crime for a lot of reasons. They _stayed_ with crime because it was paying off. Ms. Mannheim's team of not so hypothetical meta-kids had joined her because they'd had nowhere else to go. They stayed because it was better than leaving.

The elevator stopped and opened its door on the fifty-seventh floor lobby.

"The problem is, she's right. Gigante's right." Lois declared as they stepped out. It sounded like it pricked a little to admit it.

"How so?" Clark prompted.

"The suddenly dry-docked sailboat Gigante mentioned is a legit thing. The official story was a storm surge, but that was total crap, considering the boat was halfway up Hell's Gate Island and it was the middle of August." Lois explained. "August is always like this around here. We never get thunderstorms until the end of the month. There's no way that sailboat ended up in the middle of the island unless someone put it there."

They walked into the newsroom and its usual mid-morning mess of activity.

"So picture this: If there really are mobsters who can fling around thirteen thousand pound sailboats like they're baseballs, how are the police supposed to deal with that?" the dark-haired woman went on. "The SCU _barely_ managed to handle the whole mess with the Hellgrammite and its babies. They've got procedure now, but for a while there, they were making it up off the top of their heads. They've got Detective Whammy-hammer, but he's their only one and I think his mind-whammy powers aren't exactly suited for handling super-strength. So how are the rest of them going to do it?"

The answer was: the police really _couldn't_ deal with it. The average police officer didn't have the training to handle with metahumans, because for two decades, it had been rare to find metahumans actively using their abilities. It was why the Special Crimes Unit had still existed, but until recently, the department had been treated like a joke.

After that mess with the Hellgrammite, the mayor's office had wised up and began taking the SCU a little more seriously. The department had come up in numbers over the summer and the old D.E.O. handbooks had found their way out of storage, but it was a learning process for the veterans as well as the rookies, so it didn't necessarily increase their efficiency. For now, the SCU was limited in what it was capable of doing.

Maybe, one day, all incoming cadets would receive a standard education in the apprehension and detention of metahumans and the SCU would progress into a highly specialized and skilled branch within the department.

But that day was a nebulous point in the future.

"I suppose Superman deals with it." Clark guessed.

"He shouldn't have to." Lois snapped.

The harshness in her voice made Clark flinch. Lois had become one of his staunchest allies in the media in the last nine months _-_ \- saving her life, what, three or four times? had helped with that. And to hear what she was saying...?

"Are you suggesting that Superman shouldn't be helping people?" he asked.

"I'm not saying that! I'm saying..." Lois paused for a second to get her thoughts together. "I'm saying that we shouldn't expect Superman to deal with every single situation that looks even _slightly_ left of center, otherwise we end up running straight to him for every problem and expect him to handle it. Metropolis is going to have to learn how to deal with the metahuman thing on its own, just in case one day Superman isn't there."

Clark gave her a somewhat bemused look, though what he felt was more amusement. "You honestly think there's going to be a time when Superman won't be able to be there."

"Smallville, _c'mon_." Lois rolled her eyes and dropped her bag into her desk chair. "Underneath that cape and those chiseled good looks, he pretends to be a normal human. I mean, I guess he _is_ an American citizen, which means he's beholden to American law. And if he doesn't have any training in law enforcement, then he's technically not legally qualified in the same way the police are. And you know how people feel about superheroes these days."

 _Nail on the head, Lois_. Clark thought. It was good to know that she felt the same way about the situation as he did.

A sharp whistle cut through the air and it took Clark until the instant it struck its highest pitch to realize that it was coming from the outside. He felt the impact through the soles of his shoes before everyone else heard the explosion.

There was a sudden crack like thunder overhead, the kind that shook entire houses and caused people to drop everything they were holding and scream. Lois nearly startled herself right off her own feet, grabbing onto handfuls of Clark's shirt.

"What the hell was that?!" she demanded, jerking upright.

"Over there." Clark surged forward, taking her elbow as he did.

There were panoramic walls of windows on each side of the fifty-seventh floor. The reporters on the floor had had a nearly uninterrupted three hundred and sixty degree view of the city. Hob's Bay to the south. Midtown to the north. The business district to the east and more of Downtown to the west.

They gathered now at the east windows, seething up to the glass like salmon trying to swim upstream with about half the luck. They pushed and jostled each other trying to get a better look.

"There's a building on fire!"

"Which building is it? I can't see!"

"I can't see either! You're too tall! Get out of my way!"

"Yeah! Make some room for the short people, you fucking giant!"

Clark cut a path through the heaving crowd, Lois following eagerly in his wake, until they were both up to the glass. Black smoke was rising over the business district, just ten blocks away.

"Did anyone see what happened?" Lois called, only to get a general murmur of negatives in return. No one had been staring out the window. The skyline hadn't been important until now.

"Shit, you don't think it's another Twin Towers thing, d'ya?" Steve Lombarde asked no one in particular. He tried to keep his voice quiet, but it was deep and rumbly and carried rather well. The words sent an uneasy ripple over the crowd.

"No way! Maybe someone's air-con blew up!" a reporter denied shakily. A thick New York accent poured out of his voice. Lois recognized him as Freddy Jones who had closed out his Manhattan reporting career with the booms that had been 9-11.

Clark felt the fear settle into a knot in his chest, accompanied by ballooning uncertainty and a horrible sense of insecurity that took the bottom out of his stomach. He had been in Russia when terrorists had flown airplanes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. He hadn't heard about the event until over several months later, when he'd finally walked into a town large enough to field international news in a language he could understand.

But he had the same feeling now as he did then. Even now, six years later, America still wasn't as safe and secure as anyone wanted to believe. It wasn't untouchable and some people just wanted to prove that.

"Hey! I think it's the Future World building that's on fire!"

"Yeah! With the big spire up there, right?"

"How can you see that? That's practically on the other side of the strait!"

"Damn, it's not LexCorp." Lois muttered. Now that she thought about it, the smoke was too close to be LexCorp; on the far eastern tip of New Troy. The Future World building was much more centrally located in the business district.

"What's going on!?" Perry White waded into the mass of people by the window, the crowd parting for him. "Have we heard anything yet? Who's on the phone with the police? Who's getting pictures of this clusterfuck?!"

With sheepish expressions, several photographers ducked away to retrieve their cameras.

Something shot by the building, so fast it was a blur and so close it made the windows flex. The reporters trampled back from the glass like it had suddenly heated, screeching in fright and stumbling over one another. A sonic boom thundered past a second later, rolling over the city.

In the time it took to dissipate, another explosion burst into the air. A plume of fire rose briefly above the rooftops before dissolving into thick black smoke, precisely alongside the first and something veered back along the skyline.

"That's an MQ-9 Reaper A predator drone! Packing heat!" Lois exclaimed, practically throwing herself back against the glass. Her voice was veering towards hysterical excitement. She hadn't been allowed in the aircraft hangars unsupervised so she had never gotten to see the fun stuff very much. "Hellfires or Sidewinders, I bet! Both of those can go supersonic!"

Perry whipped around so fast he might have given himself whiplash.

"What the hell's a UAV doing over Metropolis?! Lane! How the hell do you know what that is!?"

"I'm an Army brat, Chief. Some things just rub off on you."

"But what's it doing over Metropolis?!"

"Beats the hell outta me." Lois commented, grinning eagerly. She never channeled her adrenaline into fear or anger. Always action. She couldn't afford to lose her head whenever chaos erupted.

Her fingers itched. She wanted to run back to her computer and take down preliminary notes as much as she wanted to keep watching to see what would happen next. There was a story happening here and it was bound to be a doozy. Predator drones couldn't just launch themselves and start firing missiles. There was someone within a thousand mile radius typing in orders and working the controls.

"Holy shit, betcha don't get excitement like this in Tiny Town, Kansas, eh Smallville?" Lois asked, watching the drone circle around to line up its next attack run. "Though after meteors and doomsday cults, bet this is like coming home."

Clark didn't reply, which was unusual, because when it came to his hometown, he tended to have something to say in return, even if it was just the feeble defense that Smallville was just a farming community and the only exciting thing that had ever happened was when all the cows wandered into the middle of town or something like that.

And she didn't feel his sometimes hulking presence at her back.

"Hey, Clark?" She turned and found an empty space where she was sure the other reporter must have been standing. "Clark?... Clark?"

She looked left and right, standing on her toes to peer over the heads of the crowd rushing back up to the windows, searching for his profile, but Clark was nowhere to be seen.

"Look, _look_!" Connie, one of the interns, screamed so loud her voice cracked. "Look! It's Superman!"

The mysterious whereabouts of Clark Kent forgotten, Lois flattened herself back against the window for the closest look she could get. Superman moved too fast for her to really get a good look at him, but there was no mistaking him. Lois saw the red cape and the muscled body emblazoned with that stylized 'S', powerful arms outstretched as he flew towards the flaming building.

Then she frowned. Clark was gone.

Once again, Clark Kent had mysteriously vanished _just before_ Superman showed up.

How... _odd._

How _coincidental_.

* * *

Even before he'd gotten out the roof access door, Clark was able to smell the burning fuel from the launched missiles. The acrid stench hit him like a punch to the nose the second he threw himself out the door, tearing off the last of his clothes. The silk tie was the last thing to hit the rooftop and the crimson cape unfurled behind him as he took to the air like he had been shot out of a cannon. The city-scape blurred under him as he flew to the Future World Industries building.

The building looked as though it might have been ripped straight from the pages of a pulp sci-fi novel. A broad sweeping structure of steel and reflective glass, taking up an entire city block by itself (in this city, one hundred sixty-eight thousand, one hundred square feet). The pyramidal base housed forty floors of labs and offices and testing rooms. There was a visitor friendly observation deck that overlooked Hob's Bay. The interior was sleek lines of chrome and steel and the color white, smooth and polished and sterile. The executive tower was another ten floors and it twisted in a spiral like a Phillips-head screwdriver.

It was hard to tell if the tower itself or the pyramidal structure had been the target. The first missile had struck about three quarters of the way up the pyramid. The second missile had likewise struck the pyramid, higher up than the first. Smoke poured out of the craggy gashes and hot flames licked at the edges. The city was already lighting up, sirens piercing the air and there was the distant sound of a chopper warming up. He heard the wails of fear from inside the building.

Superman swept his x-ray vision up and down the skyscraper as he circled it. It was Friday, mid-morning, coffee break time. There was a large break room that took up most of the thirtieth floor and the majority of the people streaming off that floor in droves. Everyone below floor thirty-three was making tracks down the emergency stairs and the elevators were quickly zooming down on their final descent, carrying a load each. But the missiles had been sleek little things that hadn't detonated immediately upon impact and they had gone deep enough into the building to bust out the elevator shafts and the doors to the stairs, effectively trapping everyone else between floor thirty-four and floor forty-five.

There were people clustering at the windows now, shouting and pointing at him, arms thrusting out frantically as they shouted for help. The people above floor forty-five and up in the executive tower could probably be rescued by chopper. It was the people stuck between the impact points who really needed the help and he needed to get them out before they were overwhelmed by the smoke and the fire. He quickly counted up the people and winced when the number exceeded five hundred.

"This isn't going to work a few at a time." he said in dismay. More people would just suffocate before he could get to them.

There had to be something big and flat he could borrow, just for a moment, to get everyone possible out of the afflicted area. He looked around for a frustratingly long second, finding nothing until his search landed on an empty garbage scow anchored in Hob's Bay. He regarded it for a moment. How much weight was that, several tons? Well, it didn't matter how much it weighed. It was large enough to carry those five hundred plus people.

A deep breath in his lungs, he shot towards it and under the water, snapping the anchor chains before moving to the crusted underside of the scow and heaving upwards with it. Muscles bunched and bulged and strained. Superman felt his whole body go into the effort of lifting the several ton hunk of metal out of the water and bit by bit, it rose up. The moment it was freed of the water's pull, it seemed easier to hoist the scow into the air. He pushed upwards, back towards the burning building.

His arms were starting to shake by the time he brought the scow about level with the longest swathe of broken windows. It was _heavy_ ; he had never carried something this weighty for this long! He had to bury the edge of it into the wall a little ways just to steady it. In the time it had taken him to transport the scow up to the burning floors, the employees had gathered in a terrified cluster of humanity, coughing and crying, but there was sense of salvation and relief. Another few windows were smashed open by chairs.

Surprisingly, they didn't push or shove their way out the windows. They stayed relatively calm and orderly, jumping out one a time. The leaders of the pack, probably the managers, hurried them on, bellowing encouragement and generally being cheerleaders.

A whistle sounded in his ears.

 _The UAV!_

Superman turned his head just in time to see the predator drone fire another missile and break off. Shit! He couldn't do anything! Employees were still filing out the windows and he couldn't move he couldn't leave them to die!-

Gut-wrenching horror seized him when he realized he could calculate the trajectory of the missile. It was either going to hit the scow or himself. The scow wouldn't make it and neither would the people climbing aboard, that was for sure. But he had to wonder:

 _Could I survive that?_

" _Krypto_!" Superman screamed in such a high pitch that it was inaudible to human ears.

Then time itself started behaving funny, like it always seemed to do when situations got bad. The launched missile appeared to slow down to a crawl, moving a mere inch at a time. It oozed forward inexorably, trailing heat and condensation like streamers. He didn't know if he could survive the impact. Blunt force trauma, bullets at point-blank, even half a building had collapsed on him at one point. He had fallen through hundreds of miles worth of atmosphere and hit the south Atlantic without much more than a sprained wrist and sore back to show for it. He hadn't been exposed to much else. For all he knew, a forty-pound tank-busting warhead exploding in his face could be the very thing that did him in.

But today, he wasn't going to find out.

A white blur streaked across the skyline and caught the missile in powerful, clamping jaws. Krypto, arriving in a timely manner as usual, for he was never that far away. The wolf-like Kryptonian dog wrassled with the missile for a moment, its thrusters pushing it forward. But alien strength won out and Krypto sped off with his target. He dropped it several miles out over Lake Superior. It twirled away crazily into the water to explode, sending a fountain spewing into the air.

Tail waving jauntily, Krypto flew back to Superman to see what else he could do to help.

"Good boy. Such a good boy. I owe you a steak." Superman praised through gritted teeth. The scow was heavier now with over five hundred people on it and he was feeling the strain all down his shoulders and back.

But there was just a few people left.

"See the flying thing over there?"

Krypto's ears pricked forward as he watched the UAV circle again, summer sunlight glinting off its hull. It was a threat. His hackles started to rise and a subsonic growl rumbled out of his vocal cords.

"Get the flying thing." Superman instructed.

Krypto whuffed an affirmative and flew to intercept. The UAV began to line up another pass. It had one more missile left. But Krypto was faster and he detonated in an explosion of teeth and claws, bearing down on the drone exactly like a very savage attack dog. His knife-like teeth tore at the wings and engine, claws ripping open the hull.

That would keep the controller busy for a bit.

Superman peered up through the scow to the five hundred plus people huddled on the deck and then looked into the building. Two managers hauled the last person out the window, cradling a broken leg and then they were all aboard. Once they were settled, he dug his fingers into the metal and started to pull away from the building.

It was agony to move slowly; he had never carried something to heavy before. The scow threatened to tilt and waver as he struggled to keep it steady. But he literally had five hundred lives resting on his shoulders and he could not afford to let the scow tilt too far, the quivering of his muscles be damned.

Slowly, carefully, he hauled the scow back to the water.

The return flight to Hob's Bay was ridiculously slow. Superman reminded himself every other second about the people on the scow. Five hundred of them depending entirely on his ability to put it down safely in the water.

Several choppers had launched in the interim. Two were rescue choppers that landed daintily, one at a time, on the helicopter pad to ferry out the people in the executive tower and upper floors of the pyramid. The other two were news choppers, both from Galaxy communications. One buzzed around Krypto who was still busy savaging the drone. He had reduced it to the point of uselessness, tearing off the wings and the propeller. He had put deep holes in the engine and the whole thing was sputtering and coughing smoke. However, he avoided damaging anything that looked like an identifying mark and dropped the savaged drone right on the front lawn of the city court-house.

The second helicopter dropped in through Superman's peripheral vision and hovered around in front of him like a great dragonfly. The lens of camera flashed briefly in the indirect light from the chopper's open side door. At that moment, Superman was sure that everyone was going to have a good look at his gritted teeth and strained expression.

That was going straight to the internet to be meme'd. He was calling it now.

The back end of the scow dropped.

The sudden tilt seemed to drag his stomach with it and the accompanying yelps made his heart leap. A swear on the tip of his tongue, Superman fought to lift the back end, but he could feel it dragging down more and more _-_ -

Krypto whooshed past him and then the strain of lifting the back end of the scow lightened. A cheery bark in his ears reassured him of what was happening. Krypto wasn't nearly as strong as the other Kryptonian, but he could bear some of the weight.

 _Definitely steak. A side of beef, if I can manage it._ Superman thought, nodding to himself.

Lightly like a feather, they sunk into Hob's Bay and finally let the scow settle back onto the water's surface.

* * *

"Hell of a Friday, Smallville."

"You're telling me."

"Why do my Fridays with you always end up like this?"

"Lucky shoes." Clark commented.

"Heh." Lois tapped the heels of the shoes in the question of the leg of her desk. "Not so lucky today. I didn't even get the story."

"Sorry, Lois. I suppose you'll have to be faster next time." Clark said, not so apologetically even under the strength of his partner's glower.

His official excuse for disappearing was that he had run downstairs and outside to go get the story from ground level. One advantage of being Superman was that people were usually very eager to talk to him, so it wasn't like it had been difficult to go around to the Future World employees and ask if they were okay, what they had seen, if there had been any rumors about an attack or what might have incited this, etcetera.

He and Lois were partners, but they didn't share the byline _all_ the time.

Lois let a grumbling noise and dropped her glower, since it was half a cover for a sense of pride. Only the early reporter got the story and Clark had leapt right into action without waiting even a second. She had taught him well.

"Remember to keep it in perspective, Smallville."

"I know, Lois."

"I know you know, but every time Superman pops onto the scene, everyone gets so excited they lose focus. They want that sensational story!" Lois held up her hands like she was framing something.

'Sensational' was what happened to every Superman story if neither Clark nor Lois wrote it. Occasionally, someone else got the scoop first and they did the journalistic equivalent of purple prose and literary cheese. It wasn't yet an editor's mandate that all Superman scoops go straight to Lois Lane and Clark Kent, but Perry had called them the superhero beat. There was a tacit understanding that all superhero stories were in their territory.

"It's been nine months. I know how to write an objective article by now." Clark told her. "I won't sensationalize it."

"Speaking of sensational stories... Someone turn the TV up!" Lois yelled into the general din.

Someone did and the voice of the _Planet_ 's own news-anchor Angela Chen filled the newsroom. She had a botox smile and more enthusiasm than the evening news typically required. Relegated to puff pieces and gossip, she normally didn't turn up on the six o'clock news. To see her on the tube any earlier than eleven was a sign that the news staff was either short-handed or that her face was the only one that went with the story.

Activity came to a halt.

" _...predator drone that bombed the headquarters of Future World Industries this morning has been identified. It was manufactured at a LexCorp facility right here in Metropolis. LexCorp denies any involvement with the attack, stating that the drone is one of six drones that were reported stolen last April by a still unidentified party._ "

"Oh, that's ballsy, stealing from Luthor." Lois commented softly.

" _Thanks to the quick actions of the Metropolis emergency responders, and Superman,_ " Angela allowed herself a little smile. _"The final numbers are far lower than they could have been. Of the fifteen hundred employees who were in the building at the time of the attack, only hundred and fifty are dead, missing, or so far unidentified. In response to the attack, Future World Industries CEO Deirdre Merlo had this to say._ "

Lois made a groaning disgusted noise as the newsdesk was replaced by the Future World CEO. Deirdre Merlo was as photogenic as they came. She was the type of person whose appearance one would most certainly apply the description "exotic" to. Large, almond-shaped eyes with irises the color of black ink; they looked solemnly into the camera. Her glossy black hair had been pinned up with delicate hair comb accessory that fanned out above her head like the tail of a peacock. Her ethnicity was an indistinct Middle Eastern/Indian but it had given her an enviable golden skin tone that was well complimented by her dove-gray suit jacket and low-cut black blouse.

She was, quite frankly, a gorgeous young woman. Lois had a stronger preference for men than she did women, but even the likes of Dierdre Merlo could make her do a double-take. However, personality-wise, she was shallow and insipid and everything Lois hated.

" _I am shocked and outraged by this despicable act of terrorism._ " Ms. Merlo said in a honeyed but strangely child-like voice. " _I'm horrified that it was aimed at my company. Future World Industries has done nothing to harm anyone. We have only the best interests for the future at heart. Our mission statement is to make the world a safer, healthier, and more secure place for everyone. I cannot believe anyone could find reason to take offense at this._

" _Our thoughts and prayers are with the family and friends of the victims. I am deeply sorry for the losses we have suffered and I will personally see to it that every funerary expense is paid for, out of my own pocket if necessary. I am grateful that the number is as low as it is. Superman saved the lives of many of my employees and though I owe him a debt of gratitude, I still do not condone his presence in our fair city. Perhaps this would not have happened if he had not revealed himself..._ "

"Oh bitch _please_." Lois sneered. "You've got enough enemies you don't need to go using Superman as an excuse." She looked over at Clark and knocked a thumb at the television with an expression that read _'can you believe her?'_.

Clark just shrugged. He had no real opinion about Ms. Merlo, as he didn't know enough about her to _have_ an informed opinion. And as much as Clark trusted Lois, he had also learned to take her observations of people with a grain of salt. She was not a naturally trusting person and she tended to look for the worst right off the bat. It could just be that Lois disliked Ms. Merlo because everyone else thought the female CEO was the bee's knees.

It also could be that Lois was seeing something no one else had noticed. It had been like that with Luthor, but there _was_ some contextual evidence around Luthor that suggested he'd gotten up to no good a few times in the past; those lawsuits hadn't come out of nowhere. Ms. Merlo, on the other hand, had nothing of the sort, which was probably what had incited Lois's feeling of "general ill will that springs from no discernable source". No one's record was _that_ clean, she would argue.

Either way, Clark was just trying not to jump to a conclusion.

"Once His Majesty, King Chrome Dome chimes in personally, the circle of evil will be complete." Lois muttered.

"Two people do not a circle make, Lois." Clark said absently.

"Fine, the straight line of evil." the dark-haired woman corrected.

She turned away from the television and spun her chair around to face Clark properly. His attention had been mostly absorbed by his computer and his fingers tap-tap-tapped away at the keyboard a hundred words a minute. He was a stellar touch-typist.

He sat less hunched these days; Lois had managed to exorcise the worst of the bad posture habits out of him. But today, there was a stiffness in his shoulders that hadn't been there a few hours ago and every so often, he would crack his neck this way and that like there was a kink in it that just wouldn't go away. He also stood up slow, like his lower back was giving him some trouble.

This was a recent development. Clark had been perfectly fine this morning.

It made Lois frown.

"Hey Clark? If you ran all the way down to the Future World building for the story, how on earth did you not manage to get any video?" she asked.

Clark glanced away from the screen, navy blue eyes flickering around the surface of his desk for a moment before he made eye contact with her.

"I forgot my phone." he replied, and then went back to typing.

 _Did you now..._

A phone that he routinely kept in his pocket. A phone that he always kept charged. A phone that Lois had never seen him forget. Not once. This from a man who never misplaced his belongings.

And he had forgotten his phone.

 _I'll believe that when some equally farfetched thing happens._ Lois thought. _I've got an eye on you, Clark Kent._

* * *

-0-


	3. Chapter 3

Behold! I got it up on time!

In other news, I'm working my way through chapter 4 of Whiplash and it _looks like_ I'm back in the groove. Not going to jinx myself, but it _is_ coming along.

* * *

Chapter Three:

The northern borough of Lafayette was one of Metropolis's obvious bedroom communities. In between the bungalow starter homes, the four-square houses, and the odd McMansion were a scattering of big box stores, gas stations, and chain restaurants, but the majority of residents commuted over the bridges into the city proper. It was an unassuming part of town where no one expected there to be anything strange and unusual. It wasn't rich and private like Racine and Vernon to the west, but it certainly wasn't disreputable like Oaktown to the east.

Fortunately, Hamstead took the brunt of that, so Lafayette enjoyed being a Stepford-like slice of suburbia with little disruption. The neighborhood mothers gossiped over lemonade with a shot of liquor in each glass and cast fond looks at their children who screamed and chased each other through the sprinklers while the fathers man-cave'd it up in the basements or made excuses not to be around because this was just that sort of neigborhood who attracted that sort of people.

"I wonder what it would do to the collective personality of the place if they ever learned there was an alien living secretly in their midst." Clark murmured.

Krypto snorted and shook himself.

"You're right. Probably nothing."

Saturday was just as warm as Friday, but it seemed less hectic. Clark's piece on the attack at Future World had made it into the morning paper and the rest of his inbox was clear. No time would be spent in the office today. He might throw on the cape later in the afternoon and go for a spin and put off all his errands and laundry until tomorrow.

At the moment, however, he strolled up through Lafayette with Krypto, enjoying the summer sun. The leash hung loose about his wrist; it was only there because Metropolis had a leash-law and it was easier to abide by it. Krypto disdained the leash and whuffed unhappily whenever Clark had to put it on him and accepted it like it was an affront to his dignity, but accepted it all the same.

Some over-protective type parent might get unnecessarily nervous over such a big dog not being properly "secured".

Krypto sniffed this way and that as they walked, tracking the smells of squirrels, cats, and other dogs. He stopped once to pee on a mailbox and then again when he found a particular patch of sidewalk to roll on. He came up with his white fur streaked in colored chalk dust, looking proud of himself.

"I'm hosing you down when we get there." Clark warned.

The big dog gave him a challenging look. _'Try it.'_

They rounded the corner and came up the street lined in nothing but those one-bedroom bungalow houses. They all looked identical, painted in boring neutral tones of tan, gray, and off-white, but there was one house that Clark couldn't see right through the walls of.

And it was the only one with sky-blue window shutters.

There was a man waiting for Clark at the door. He looked younger than he actually was; his appearance was that of a man in his late fifties, but his age pushed mid-seventies. He had salt and pepper hair, and sharp, prominent cheekbones that stuck out from a stately, distinguished face with a square jaw. Normally, he wore glasses that rendered his eye color a dull blue-green. But today, those glasses were absent and his eyes were a phospherescent sea-foam green that seemed to glow with an internal light of their own.

As far as anyone in the neighborhood knew, this man was Dr. Anthony Sullivan, a mechanical engineer gainfully employed at S.T.A.R. Labs. Clark had gotten comfortable with calling him "Grandad".

Contrary to what Clark had let everyone else believe, he was not the only survivor of Krypton. The number was actually quite a bit higher than even Clark knew. Krypto, by definition, was Kryptonian. Just a four-footed canid version.

He had an aunt, an uncle, and a cousin still out there somewhere (floating through space, that is), but who knew when they would arrive. He also had an older brother.

But Hayl-El was trapped in the Phantom Zone with General Zod and his army for company. At this point, Clark didn't actually have a guarantee that his brother was still alive. There were generations of Krypton's worst criminals roaming the dimension and General Zod had been sent into the Zone cursing their father's name. A young Kryptonian might not have lasted very long.

The Phantom Zone generator, secure at the Fortress of Solitude, was randomly searching for the frequency of Hayl's beacon tag, but even Jor-El had estimated thirty years before all possible combinations had been exhausted.

On Earth, however, Clark had his grandfather.

Clark let go of the leash and Krypto bounded up to the open door with a deep, welcoming bark. Dr. Sullivan leaned forward like he was preparing to catch the dog, but then got a good look at Krypto's colored fur and withdrew.

"Great Rao, what did you do to yourself?!" he demanded.

Krypto's intended leap was aborted and he dropped too lightly onto the front porch. He sat back on his haunches, tail thumping the porch, and mouth open in a doggy grin.

"He rolled in chalk dust." Clark said

"Of course you did, you great big lunk." Dr. Sullivan refrained from schnoozling the dog so he didn't get chalk dust all over his clothes, but his tone was wholly affectionate and he ran his hands over the least chalk-dusted part of Krypto's head. "I'll set the sprinkler on in the back. He can run through that until he's clean. Or close to it. You might have to wipe him down."

"Oh, he'll never stand still long enough for me to do that." Clark pointed out, knowing full well that Krypto would do everything he could dodge any kind of cleaning. He'd happily throw himself into any lake or river he spotted, but the second anyone tried to get near him with a wash cloth, he was gone in a heartbeat. "As soon as he started flying, I knew he'd never sit for another bath."

Dr. Sullivan smirked. "Disdain for washing up runs in the House of El, then. Whenever Hayl makes it home, I'll tell you all the funny baby stories so I can embarrass him." he promised. He spread his arms. "Now hugs for the old man. I haven't seen you since the Fourth!"

Clark laughed and let himself be engulfed in his grandfather's boisterious bear-hug of an embrace. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined actually having a grandparent, one he could talk to and relate to and actually _visit_ on a regular basis. Hiram and Jessica Kent had passed away about a year before Clark's arrival. Mary Clarke had died in a car accident some time ago and Clark hadn't seen his _other_ grandfather in close to eight years. William Clarke had come around the farm grudging and sullen like he had been making a scheduled check-up that he couldn't get out of and had left in what Clark had dared to call an old man sulk.

So this was nice.

"Now come in, I've got something to show you."

Clark stepped in, closed the door, and the noise of the outside world lost much of its intensity. The house was padded out with lead plates, which had a muffling effect on their powers. Up an entry hallway, past the bedroom and the bathroom and the hall closets, and the main living area were at the back of the house. A partition wall divided the kitchen from the dining and sitting areas. There was a wide patio door that straddled the partition wall and led out into the small fenced back yard.

When he wasn't putting robots together, Dr. Sullivan was a hobbyist gardener. He had no vegetables, but his flower beds were pristine and vibrant. They might have been award-winning, but he had never entered them into any contests.

"Into the yard with you, Krypto!" Dr. Sullivan ordered, directing the streaky-colored dog out through the patio door. "You're not getting chalk dust all over my furniture!"

He always pronounced Krypto's name with something of a lisp, laying a hissing H sound into the first syllable. It made Clark wonder if that was the proper pronounciation.

The big dog bounded out onto the patio with nary a trace of shame and began to tug at the hose faucet. Leaving him to it, Dr. Sullivan disappeared behind the kitchen wall for a few minutes while Clark releaxed on the couch. The ceiling fan whirred overhead and his eyes passed over the three-dimensional images that lined the top shelf of the television stand. There were individual images of Clark's biological parents, his (technically) older brother. Another of his Uncle Zor-El, Aunt Allura, and cousin Kara. And there was one big family portrait that consisted of over a dozen individuals. Dr. Sullivan had painstakingly named everyone Clark didn't already recognize and related an anecdote or two about them. A distant cousin from one side, a great-uncle from another, Allura's twin sister...

Most of them had been lost in Krypton's collapse.

There was a new image that Clark hadn't seen the last time. It depicted a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties wearing a robe that was more intricately decorated and richly colored than any he had seen so far. Her head-dress more closely resembled a crown and a heavy-looking necklace of what looked like blue sapphires was strung around her neck. She had red hair the same color as a burning ember and her eyes were a teal blue. But she had a wasted, somewhat sickly appearance, like she was just getting past a bout of flu. She was _almost_ familiar, but not quite.

"You're eyeballing the photos again." Dr. Sullivan commented, coming over to the sitting area with two glasses of ice water.

"Just... Just thinking." Clark shrugged, accepting one of the glasses. "There aren't many of us."

"No, there isn't." Dr. Sullivan agreed, sitting down on the couch opposite.

"Who's the woman?" Clark wondered, nodding at the new image. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her."

"Ah," And a big smile went across Dr. Sullivan's face. "That would be your grandmother. My wife. Perrine La-Clotte. That was her bridal portrait. The A.I.s found it in the database. Jor and Lara put together quite the family album for us."

"She looks beautiful." Clark commented. Stunning, even in spite of the somewhat sickly appearance.

"Yes, she is. I asked Lara to look for the full-body portrait. That one was my favorite. I can't imagine your parents didn't include it." Dr. Sullivan said fondly. "We randomized Lara's selection, but the scales were tipped in my favor, so she did come out looking a bit more like me than Perrine. But Lara got her eyes."

"That must be why." Clark murmured. "What happened to her?"

"She passed away young." Dr. Sullivan said, looking away. "Perinne had a compromised immune system. She was always getting sick. Someone could sneeze in her general direction and she'd be feverish by nightfall. She lived longer than the doctors predicted, but frankly, not long enough. Even with the gene selection, we could still get mutations.

"Anyways," He pointedly changed the subject. "I have two pieces of news for you. The first thing is that the A.I.s have finally figured out why we can lift city buses above our heads. It's the sun."

"The sun." Clark repeated incredulously.

Dr. Sullivan smiled and nodded. "Absolutely the sun. Us Kryptonians, we were born under a red sun on a larger planet with significantly higher gravity."

"I've heard. We've got all the genetic blueprints for a denser bone structure and rapid generation of muscle mass, plus the spine thing. But that doesn't account for everything we're capable of." Clark reminded him.

"Of couse it doesn't. But it's still the sun." Dr. Sullivan said. "Specifically, it's the yellow sun. A Class K red giant gives off a different type of solar radiation than a Class G yellow dwarf."

"Yeah, it's the... hyrdrogen fusion? Or the lack of?" Clark tried to remember, but high school had been a long time ago.

"The nuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium. Once the hydrogen fuel in the core is used up, the star in question will begin expanding." Dr. Sullivan said. "But our red giant was already burning the helium in its core. If Krypton hadn't been falling apart, we might have been done in by the helium flash in another ten thousand years. Suffice to say, the solar radiation was _very_ different.

"As far as the A.I.s have determined, it _is_ the hydrogen-based solar radiation _combined_ with the interaction with the different atmospheric composition and the radiation belts making us indestructible. Don't ask me how the science works; they're still mulling over it. Fun thing about A.I. imprints is that you get all the facial expressions too. They're baffled." He chuckled.

The A.I.s in question were technically Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van. They had essentially copied their personalities and behaviors and then used that as a base for the artificial intelligence programming that ran the Fortress of Solitude. Since running a imprint, as it was called, was a several month process, each A.I. had ended up with the weird personality quirks like Jor-El's vain streak and fashion preferences, and Lara's habit of tapping out rhythms with her hair combs when she was thinking. It was the closest Clark would come to knowing his birth parents.

"So... if my power comes from the sun... How come it took me entire childhood and then some to develop all the powers I have?" Clark wondered. "You told me it only took you about a year to develop everything?"

"Well, I was an adult when I arrived, but you were just a baby." Dr. Sullivan pointed out. "You were constantly growing new cells and discarding the oldest ones, so the new cells hadn't been exposed to the full measure of solar energy. You hadn't reached full saturation from the UV rays. You're younger than me, so you might even develop abilites I don't have." He shrugged. "Hell, Krypto might not even have the full range either, whatever that might be. He hasn't even started his sub-adult growth spurt yet."

Clark nodded, glancing out the window. Krypto had gotten the sprinkler on by himself and was leaping through it with all sorts of doggy enthusiasm and biting the jets. The fact that he had another growth spurt coming was terrifying, because he was already a large dog. He physically resembled a Samoyed-Husky mix and was about the same size; over thirty-inches at the shoulder and around one hundred and twenty pounds. At nine years old, he was still a puppy.

He was expected to grow another ten inches in height and at least double his weight. He might even get larger than that. Krypton's heavier gravity would have limited his growth potential to the expected limit, but here on Earth, it wasn't such a certainty.

"What about the rest of us? Them. The family, I mean." Clark wondered.

Dr. Sullivan thought for a moment. "Allura and Zor would develop their powers in the same amount of time I did. Kara... she was thirteen? Twelve? She might come out of suspended animation ready for a growth spurt, but I don't know if that would delay or hasten her abilities. I think she'll gain them faster, since she'll stop growing sooner. And Hayl..." The man shook his head. "I'm not going to lie to you, Clark. I've only ever seen adults get sent into the Phantom Zone. For as dim as our council was, they believed the Zone was too cruel a punishment for a child. If Hayl gets out, I have no idea if he'd still be the same age or damn near forty instead."

That sobered Clark more than a little. Time didn't pass in the Phantom Zone, or it did so at such a crawl that it might as well not be passing at all. Presumeably, the Zone's occupants didn't age either. From the glimpse Clark had gotten of General Zod last year _-_ \- the man didn't appear to have aged a day from the moment he'd gone in.

Would Hayl still age and grow into an adult or had that been stopped too?

"Well," Dr. Sullivan cleared his throat. "I suppose we'll only know for certain once they're all here. Did you bring your phone?"

"Like you asked." Clark pulled the WayneTech Pearl G2 smartphone out of his pocket. "Why?"

"A pet project of mine." Dr. Sullivan answered, reaching under the coffee table for a black tackle box. "I've been seeing whether or not our Kryptonian tech is capable of integrating with Earth's technology. The prelimary testing with some old junk from the eighties went over fairly well. Some flaws, mostly performance-based. The radio was picking up signals from the ISS and I'm not even sure what the television was doing."

He placed the tackle box on the table, flipped open the lid, and turned it around so Clark could better see what was inside. Resting in the compartments chunks of what looked like rock. They ranged the size of a pea to the size of a quarter to some as easily as long as his thumb. They were all the same blue-ish color of raw tourmaline.

"What are these?" Clark asked, gingerly picking up one of the quarter-sized pieces.

"Seedlings." Dr. Sullivan replied. "Our tech was turned into crystals. I believe it was propogated out of environmental concerns. All we had to do was build a template and the seedling would do the rest. Well, we had to apply a growth formula first. Literally boiled tree sap _-_ \- I still can't believe Earth has _edible_ tree sap. So obviously, I couldn't find the formula here on Earth, but I had good results with a combination of benzene and tetrahydrofuran, with a few drops of methylene chloride."

He placed his own smartphone on the coffee table. It looked the same, except for the case, which taken on a distinct pearly sheen.

"My phone took the integration flawlessly, but that might have just been a fluke. Mine is a G1." Dr. Sullivan took Clark's phone and removed the case from it. Then he picked up a tiny screwdriver and set work on the screws. "These seedlings were left behind by the expansioners seventeen hundred years ago, so that may have contributed to the success I've had. They're not nearly to the level the crystal tech was at when Lara constructed your ship. That makes them less complicated."

"And you want to try it on _my_ phone now?" Clark frowned at that. What happened if the first time really had been a fluke? What if he didn't have a phone after this?

Dr. Sullivan saw his face. "It'll be fine. Yours is still under warranty, right?"

Clark just frowned a little harder.

"It'll be fine." Dr. Sullivan repeated, though more to himself. "So, how is everything in the world of Clark Kent, ace reporter?"

"Lois's birthday is coming up. On the twenty-ninth." Clark announced, feeling a bit overwhelmed all of a sudden.

"Tell her I said Happy Birthday if I don't see her the day of." Dr. Sullivan said. "Is she doing anything? Are _you_ doing anything?"

"I _-_ \- I want to. I want to do something nice for her." Clark said, shrugging. "Take her out for breakfast or lunch or brunch. But she doesn't exactly have friends I can invite along and those she does have are cops so there's no guarantee that I wouldn't be sitting there alone with her trying to make awkward small talk."

That was a dilemma, as far as he was concerned. Lois didn't have a long list of friends or people she would pal around with. Clark knew that he was on a very short list. Colletta was usually terribly busy and the other person was Cat Grant. Cat was quite pleasant, but her eye-flirting was even more blatant than Lois's and it got awkward to be around her. When it came down to it, it was most likely going to be just Clark and Lois sitting in some cozy brunch cafe eating crepes and strawberries.

He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

And that was stupid, because they had lunch together almost weekly.

"What were marriages like on Krypton?" Clark asked. A second later, he blushed red, because he hadn't expected himself to ask _that_.

"Political." Dr. Sullivan said bluntly.

Clark blinked. Not the answer he had expected.

"That's the long and short of it; marriage was largely a political manuever. Even before the Contact Plague. It just got easier afterwards because the matters of sexual intercourse and physical attraction were taken off the table. We gestated our children in artificial wombs, so it was just a question of gene compatibility and if the marriage was a politically sound arrangement."

"So... If sex wasn't an issue... Same-sex couples?" Clark wondered.

"Oh yes, one in every fifteen, I'd say?" The mechanical engineer pondered for a moment. He thought the number might have been climbing there towards the end. "Honestly, the human abhorrence for same-sex pairings absolutely baffles me. It's not like the human race is in any danger of dying out. The population could drop a little and they'd be no worse for wear.

"Thanagar... Now Thanagar would be horrified by the idea even more so than humans. I don't think they've ever been exposed to the concept, never mind the reality." he added. "Then again, the Thanagarians do have a fairly low birth-rate, so you could see why opposite sex couples would be preferred."

Clark shook his head. "What are Thanagarians?"

"Humanoid avians. Hawk people. They're out in the Praepes system, Accipiter Cluster about forty light-years out. Even at faster-than-light speeds, it's still three months of travel between here and there so you'll never actually meet one on purpose." Dr. Sullivan explained. "And pray you never have the misfortune to meet one."

"Why?"

"They revere a murderous, war-mongering cosmic horror as a god and let it dictate too much of their lives."

"Uh..."

"Thanagarians high-key want to fight everyone."

"Ah."

Curious as Clark was, that sounded like an alien race that he wanted to avoid. Krypton must have had some contact with the planet and its people in the past; it sounded like Dr. Sullivan was speaking from experience.

"So, what about my parents?" Clark asked. "I mean, did they love each other or was their marriage too political."

"Oh Rao yes, those two were sickeningly sweet on each other." Dr. Sullivan made a face. "Jor was third-born in his family, so he had the option of petitioning for a spouse rather than having a spouse chosen for him. Less politics involved for him and Zor. Anyways, their older sister had her eye on a lovely young lady from the House of Aith. It was a good match; the Council had been wanting the House of El to get more involved with diplomacy and such. My House was an ally to Aith, so we were expected to be at the engagement ceremony. I was there when Jor and Lara made eye contact for the first time. It was like the Fourth of July."

Clark smiled. "Love at first sight."

"Everything you'd want." Dr. Sullivan agreed, smiling at the memory all the same. "Lara was my first-born _-_ \- first and only, actually. She would have dealt with the council politics and the arranged betrothment, particularly considering that she was the only daughter in the House of Lor-Van. I was an only child myself and a widower, so the pressure was on for her to marry and keep the House going."

"You never remarried?"

"No one expected me to. Perinne was one in a million. I just don't think I would have been happy with anyone else." he stated, albeit a little sadly like he still wondered if he had missed any opportunites.

"Ideally, you'd marry equal or up. There was only a certain point to which it was acceptable to marry _down_. Ideally, a first-born marries another first-born, but that happened even less often than the Council would have had people believe."

Clark frowned thoughtfully, trying to puzzle out the marriage politics. "So what did that mean for...?"

"In the end, very little." Dr. Sullivan admitted. "The House of El was above us, so the fact that Jor was third-born was moot. Either way, Lara married up into a good family. Once Jor's petition showed up in the system, the Council was willing to let Lara make a choice: Take Jor's petition or let the Council continue the match-making. Quite fortunately for you and Hayl, Jor and Lara could barely keep their eyes off each other. Once the courtship went through, it was their _hands_ we had to worry about _-_ -"

"Whoa, I thought we didn't have sexual arousal."

"They enjoyed touching each other all the same." Dr. Sullivan said, wiggling his fingers obscenely. "There's pleasure to be derived from simple skin-to-skin contact, Clark. And hey, when you grow up in a culture that doesn't put a lot of positive emphasis on physical contact, that's as forbidden as nookie in the backseat _-_ -"

"Whoa!" Clark stood up to physically walk away from the conversation. Even though his birth-parents hadn't done any naughty deeds to conceive him, he still didn't want to hear about it. Or accidentally imagine it. His bits didn't work that way, but his imagination sure as hell did.

"Oh, sit down." Dr. Sullivan was grinning. He had taken the back off the smartphone, revealing its innards. He picked up one of the pea-sized seedlings with a pair of tweezers and began brushing it down with some kind of liquid. "We abhorred physical contact because of how easily the plague had spread. Walking sticks came into fashion for a while and after the plague was neutralized, it was gloves. By the time I was born, the only acceptable place to touch a stranger was on the left wrist and that was only to get one's attention. Anything beyond that was considered intimate, Clark. It only happened between family members or married couples."

A realization came over Clark and one of his interactions with Nam-Ek suddenly started to make a little more sense.

"Wait... Is that why Nam-Ek thought Lois and I _-_ \- were a thing?"

"Did he?"

"Well, he kept calling Lois my woman." Clark scowled. He didn't like the possessive connotations.

"What instance of physical contact did he first witness between you and Lois?" Dr. Sullivan asked.

"I grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off an roof." Clark answered. "To be fair, Nam-Ek was charging right at us and it was the quickest way of dodging."

"But that _would_ do it. It's the waist. That's the couples' zone. Siblings and parents hug at the shoulders. It took me a while to figure out how different it was here. I was confused by the constant touching when I first landed. For all I knew, everyone was related or married." Dr. Sullivan said, shaking his head. "Bless Nam-Ek's black little soul, but he did not even _try_ to understand the concept of touch starvation. I did my reading. Humans _need_ tactile contact just to be properly socialized as infants."

"And we don't?"

"Not after two thousand years of gene manipulation that could be passably considered evolution, but I think we're better off for being the huggy sort."

Clark nodded, glad that his grandfather had a positive thought or two to spare on being huggy. He had been raised as a human and after two decades of platonic intimacy, he didn't think he could have necessarily gone without.

Very carefully, Dr. Sullivan placed the seedling in a small groove between the battery and the rest of the interior casing.

"This will need a minute to react." he said. "So out of curiousity, _are_ you and Lois a thing?"

"What? _-_ \- No, no, god no!" Clark waved his hands frantically and back-pedaled away from _that_ conversational pit. "Lois and I are **not** a thing! Absolutely not. We are friends. Just friends. She actually uses that word around me, so I'm going to stay in her comfort zone."

Dr. Sullivan's eyebrows did a thing where they danced around in sheer skepticism. He'd had twenty years to sort out most if not all of the nuances of human interpersonal relationships. He couldn't say that he understood everything, such as where they drew the lines between platonic and romantic (to be fair, humans didn't quite seem to get it either), but he would swear on Krypton's space-blasted bits that Lois and Clark seemed a bit too close to be "just friends".

Clark, on the other hand, knew that he had a crush on Lois. It was slightly terrifying because it had been such a long time since he'd had a crush on _anyone_. Lana Lang, and that had vanished about mid-junior year. Strangely, about the time he'd realized that boners were actually a normal part of a teenage male's life and nothing of the sort had happened to him. One horror replaced by another, he supposed now.

But just like last time, Clark knew he wouldn't be able to act on his feelings. Not because Lois was dating anyone, no, but because Lois wasn't dating period. And no matter how many carefully probing questions he asked, he just couldn't get a read on her feelings. She hit on him all the damn time and Colletta (a stellar wing-lady, really) had reported that Lois tended to rant at length about Clark's "completely unfair chest", but it took at least four drinks to get that far. On the other end of the spectrum, Lois had also made it clear that dating was not a thing she was interested in, since her journalism career was really starting to heat up and she wanted to make sure that her focus was where it needed to be.

So Clark was left to pretend that his crush wasn't happening.

Not easy.

Lois was _adorable_.

"Lois is bisexual." he found himself saying. "She's never said so outright. I only know that because I met I think her _only_ past girlfriend. To be honest, I'm not sure that she personally identifies as bi. She was raised in a military environment, so she's probably kind of wrapped up in 'don't ask, don't tell'."

"And by force of manipulation, we Kryptonians are asexual." Dr. Sullivan said. "Do something." He prodded the seedling with the tweezers. "Clark, sometimes you look at Lois like Jor looked at Lara."

Clark blinked. "I do?"

"In this fond, if slightly exasperated, way where your eyes are saying 'I would move heaven and earth for you'." Dr. Sullivan grinned a little bigger than necessary. "Whatever you've got, you've got it bad."

Clark groaned and covered his heated face with both hands.

"Now the horrible crushy feelings will probably pass if you let them. Just stop being so mortified by them and accept that they're there." the mechanical engineer advised. He gave the seedling another prod and scowled. "I think this one's a dud _-_ \- No there it goes!"

Clark lowered his hands just in time to see the seedling open like a popcorn kernel. The blue tourmaline-like exterior had opened to reveal a more pearly-like interior that flattened itself against the battery and the inner mechanics. It seemed to hesitate a second, and then it spread upwards along the back of the phone, skirting around the lens, the USB port, the charging port, and the power button until it resembled just another phone case. The surface of it rippled like it was settling and nothing visible happened. Dr. Sullivan eyeballed it closely for another few seconds and then picked up the phone.

"Oh, it worked!"

Clark raised an eyebrow. "It did?"

"Yes! Feel this, it even conformed to the texture!" Dr. Sullivan pushed Clark's phone back into his hand.

The new casing didn't feel hard and cool like he would have expected from something that essentially stone. Instead, it was slightly warm and a bit rubbery. He pressed a finger against the power button and the screen lit up a moment later. It went through the title screen, which was the animation of an oyster opening to reveal an image of the phone. That was replaced by _W.E. PEARL_ _G2_ , the letters shimmering iridescently before it took him to the password screen.

"Well?" Dr. Sullivan demanded impatiently and expectantly.

"Well, it hasn't blown up yet." Clark reported.

"Did you expect it to?"

"Kind of."

He swiped in his password, pleased when the phone made no strange noises and took him straight to the main screen. A notification popped up immediately, accompanied by the smooth mechanical voice of HAL 9000. " _Good morning Dave._ "

"Jeez _-_ -!" He nearly threw the phone.

"Hah! They hit me with Ride of the Valkyries." Dr. Sullivan said sympathetically.

"I hated that movie!" Clark complained. "My parents thought it was a masterpiece, but it scared the crap out of me even the second time around."

"To each their own. I just made fun of the inaccuracies." Dr. Sullivan said cheerfully. "Now if you haven't guessed, the phone has a direct link to the Fortress and the A.I.s. I should warn you; they will probably start asking you questions that you more than me are going to know the answers to. They're trying to understand human behavior and culture, so they've started by going down the National Film Registry list. Because they're scientists, essentially. They're going to do it methodically."

"How _-_ \- How much of the world do they have access to?" Clark wondered. Internet access, obviously, so there was a most likely a satellite uplink. Heck, they had probably boosted McMurdo Station's signal in the process.

"Well..." Dr. Sullivan thought for a moment. "The Fortress was built with an uplink to the Krypton _oxobcha-_ \- sorry, I don't think there's an exact translation. I suppose, satellite network? Since the Fortress is designed to sync to satellites, I suppose when I reactivated the place last year, it connected with any orbital satellite in a state of active transmission."

"That's... That's over a thousand." Clark stated. Lois had blabbed the number at him once.

A thousand plus satellites that monitored GPS, weather, communications, government, military, the internet, and really anything on the damn planet... And the A.I.s had access to all of it.

 _All of it_.

Clark had seen too many movies about that exact scenario.

"They're not _-_ \- I mean, the A.I.s, they have failsafes, right?"

"Don't worry, they do. It is against their programming to knowingly and deliberately endanger the safety and stability of the planet and its governments."

Somehow, the engineer's tone failed to be completely reassuring, no matter how much Clark knew he was right. His biological parents were scientists, meaning that it was most likely in their nature to predict the variables and eventualities. A.I.s had been a common part of life on Krypton, so they had known how to avoid the whole 'unstoppably mad with unlimited power' aspect.

"I'm sorry, the concept just bothers me a little." he admitted. "Sometimes, it just feesl like when anyone gets their hands on even a little bit of power, they go sort of crazy. It's harder to stop A.I.s."

"I know what you mean." Dr. Sullivan said. A dark look passed briefly over his face. "But you don't need to worry about it. I did help with some of the programming, so I know what they cannot and should not do. They're your parents, Clark. The closest there is."

Clark nodded, glancing down at his phone screen as he did. He didn't know why it bothered him, the A.I. business. It just did. But his parents had known what they were doing. He was just going to have to have some faith.

* * *

-0-


	4. Carte Blanche

I'm getting a tooth extracted tomorrow so you get the new chapter a day early, cuz I _know_ I'm not gonna feel like doing anything except cuddling with the cats. This won't be like the last extraction I had. Supposedly, it's trickier because of the relative proximity to my sinuses. The first one was in my lower jaw. This second one is in my upper and the wisdom tooth that didn't come in is also just floating around up there so _that one_ might have to come out too.

Wish me luck!

* * *

Chapter Four: Carte Blanche

Metropolis's annual August drought broke very early Monday morning, first with a misty drizzle that seemed to drift in off the lake. The rain was steady and drumming by the time Captain Maggie Sawyer of the Special Crimes Unit and three of her Musketeers arrived at the scene of the crime at a little before five in the morning.

They were a little west of Metropolis proper, up the river where the houses became even more expensive and had river-side docks, and the grocers were organic and over-priced. It was a modern, luxurious side of town where everything was upscale and slightly snobbish. It was pretentiously known as the Glass Coast and it was no place for a grisly murder.

The eldest of the captain's Musketeers was Detective Jim Gordon, previously of the Major Crimes Unit with a wealth of experience in homicide and missing people. He didn't trail a step behind Maggie, as Turpin was wont to do, and he walked on her left rather than her right.

Properly trailing behind them were two of the SCU's rookies, still shiny and new enough that their badges were regularly polished. Once Chicago cadets, they and fourteen of their classmates had gotten wind of the business going down in the SCU and decided that they might find more excitement in the Big Apricot than the Windy City.

Oh, they would find excitement, all right.

Maggie knew in the back of her mind that the sixteen cadets had made their decision based on Superman. That they had come to Metropolis because the city had a superhero (of a sort) that a person could be proud of. But that wasn't the point. In the end, they had come to Metropolis and their numbers had bolstered the tiny SCU.

They were still absurdly small, but at least Maggie could count to thirty members now.

Several beat officers who had secured the scene ahead of time scowled at them as they passed. It wasn't a reaction that Maggie was unfamiliar with and she normally ignored it, but this time she stopped and turned to face the officers.

"Something wrong, gentlemen?" she asked mildly.

Of the five, three of them turned away and pretended that nothing was going on, clearly not looking to get into an argument with a captain. But two of them didn't; Officer Charlie Binghamton and his partner, Officer Anabella Petruzzelli. Maggie knew _of_ them. They were not the most affable people and with the way the pair of them were scowling, they certainly didn't have anything nice that they wanted to say.

"I've got a problem with this, _captain_." Binghamton said, crossing his arms.

"Is that so? Please, do tell. Your opinion matters so much to me." Maggie said sarcastically. "Officers Binghamton and Petruzzelli, I know what you're going to say. And my answer is short and sweet. If it's meta, it's mine. Clear?"

They grunted in unison.

"And if you have any more complaints, please take them straight to Commander Friedland. It's his job to listen to them, not mine." she informed them. "I just take the cases as they come down the pipe. I don't control who does what to anyone in this city."

She flashed them a beatific smile and walked away.

"We're still getting that?" Jim questioned incredulously.

Maggie nodded. "Not as often anymore, but yes, it's still happening." she said with a groan.

'It' was a tapering number of people who had taken it rather personally that the SCU had actually gained a position of defineable authority within the department. Anything that involved or concerned metahumans now immediately fell under the SCU's jurisdiction, an automatic Code Veitch. It also meant that the Met P.D. could no longer make the SCU into the butt of many jokes, as upper management expected everyone to treat the unit with due respect and take their experience seriously. Some had felt this was taking cases away from the other units, but they couldn't exactly argue with the commissioner.

So they scowled and complained to Maggie instead like they were trying to bully her out of command.

It was ridiculous, but at least the opposing group had dwindled considerably in the last few months.

They ducked under the yellow tape and past the flood-lights that illuminated the scene. Maggie heard the sharp sucking breaths from her two rookies as they got a look at things. Four and a half months out from their training, the two were still somewhat fresh-faced and idealistic. Metropolis was not a rough city and the learning curve was gentle, so they hadn't been exposed to the levels of weirdness that Metropolis had the potential to consistently reach. The last four months had been relatively tame in comparison to how things _could_ get. No giant insects or city-destroying calamities. Not yet. Just Superman, popping in and out during disasters and car accidents to save some lives.

One of the rookies was Detective Yumiko Hasegawa; small, Japanese descent, and deadly. The kind of person who was all of five feet tall, built like a stick figure, and was proficient in flying high-kicks. This was a young woman who could take down men twice her size. She had been the valedictorian of her class; top scores, superb marksmanship, splendid hand-to-hand. If the academy had tested them on it, Hasegawa had come out on top. Certainly, she had all the makings of a top-tier detective.

On the exact opposite end of the spectrum was the worst in class, Officer David Corporon. He was not terrible, but there was a lot of room for improvement. The good news was that he had the drive to improve. He had the relentless and steady work ethic that had characterized two of Maggie's deceased detectives, and sometimes, that was all one needed. But he didn't have their confidence. Corporon had scraped through the final stage of the Chicago police academy by the skin of his teeth and continued to be jittery and unsure of himself.

Detective Hasegawa was poised to excell, but it was Officer Corporon who needed every last boost they could give him.

"All right, kids." Maggie turned to face the rookies. "This is your first Code Veitch _-_ \- first confirmed one, at any rate. I want your thoughts. Wow me."

The Code Veitch (SCU short-hand for "There are no words to describe this" and more appropriate than "what the fuck") was quite the murder scene. A young woman, early twenties, half-Caucasian, half... maybe one quarter Mexican? _-_ \- was impaled on a narrow stone spike going right through her ribcage. Not 'impaled by', but 'impaled _on_ ', meaning the spike had come up from underneath her. She had been dead for several hours by this point. Forensics had already swept in to mark the important pieces of evidence and take their pictures and samples before the rain washed everything out. They had judged the lividity and _rigor mortis_ and preformed a quick check of the liver temperature, and had concluded that the woman had died eight to nine hours earlier.

Detective Hasegawa's dark eyes flitted around the scene, soaking up information. "The young woman was killed by an earthbender." she said. "Are we calling them that?"

"As good a name as any." Maggie agreed. "But are you sure?"

"Of course." Hasegawa said, firm and confident. "The stalagmite erupted from underneath her. Her attacker pushed her down and put the spike through before she could get back up. Her body is flush to the ground and the ribs are shattered around the impact point."

She finished with a slightly triumphant expression that she quickly hid under a mask of humble-ness, but her eyes still gleamed with that light. She was sure of what she was seeing and confident that her assessment was correct. Maggie and Jim shared an amused look. The rookies were always so cute on their first rodeo.

"Officer Corporon, what do you think?" Maggie asked.

Corporon twitched. "What do I think? Well, uh..." His gaze darted over the scene, taking in the dead body and the chunks of rock and mud that littered the torn-up earth. "Uh, I think the lady was a metahuman too."

"That's an interesting assessment, Officer." Jim said. "What makes you think that?"

Corporon looked vaguely panicked, like he hadn't expected to get this far. "Uh, the rocks. They're pretty smashed up. It's like the victim was able to block the stone."

Maggie nodded. That was the first thing that she had noticed. Quite the fight had gone down. The amount of stone strewn about did indeed suggest that their victim had been able to block each projectile. They had already had some experience with a young girl able to generate force-fields. It was unlikely that she had been the only one with that power-set.

But the rookies had it backwards.

"Well spotted, Officer Corporon." she said, and the rookie officer fidgeted. "Detective Hasegawa, do you see anything else that might clue us in to last night's events?"

Hasegawa looked around. "She was out of her way."

"Well, anyone would have seen that." Corporon said grumpily. He crossed his arms.

"No fighting, kids." Maggie instructed. "What do you mean 'out of her way'?"

"She isn't dressed like she lives in this area." Hasegawa elaborated. "This is the fancy area. The mayor and her cabinet lives in this neighborhood. High rollers and deep pockets. She's in sweats and a hoodie."

"You'd be shocked how little that means." Maggie said dryly. "Detective Gordon, what would you like to add to this? What can our rookies learn from your expertise?"

Jim looked up from his phone. "Well, the first lesson is that Lyle's sleep cycle doesn't match any of ours and he's very quick with a keyboard. Our database is already updated." he declared. "Meet Angela Morgan, twenty years old and a student of cultural anthropology at Metropolis U. Her address is just off the campus, parents live in Donken, south of here." He tucked his phone away. "Now you were both right, but you've got it backwards. Miss Morgan is our rock-thrower."

Both rookies stared and Hasegawa frowned.

"According to the photos, her footprints track in from over there." Jim pointed towards the riverfront where the foot-path wound along. "You can't see it anymore because the rain has been too heavy in the last half hour, but she passed over that grate when she left the path. But she didn't move around very much. She dug her feet in over there and stood her ground. Literally dug her feet in."

He pointed between the woman's bare and still slightly muddy feet, and then to a patch of ground some five or six feet away from where she currently. Her feet were oriented towards it, like she had been pushed backwards. The rain had wiped out any traces of her prints in the intervening time, but the evidence marker still remained as a frame of reference in the photos.

"And Detective Gordon, please illuminate our rookies as to how you determined that the late Miss Morgan was indeed the earthbender." Maggie requested, enjoying the vaguely dumbstruck expressions on their faces.

"The debris. It's scattered in a circle around that particular area." Jim explained. "She stood there and pulled up as much earth as she could to throw at her attacker who was sprinting all over the place trying to avoid whenever he couldn't block."

The rookies shared another look, this one downright incredulous. Jim smirked. They had a lot to learn about looking and finding the clues. The rain hadn't been coming down hard for long enough to completely wash the clues away. Between the faint traces that remained and the photos that Lyle had promptly uploaded into their database as soon as he had received them, drawing conclusions had been simple.

"We do have a database, kids. Learn to use it." he said.

"Thank you, Detective Gordon. I'm sure they will take that lesson to heart."

"You're welcome, Captain Sawyer."

"Now, Detective Hasegawa, Officer Corporon," Maggie addressed them. "There are many reasons that Miss Morgan could have come out this way. However, considering the location, her state of dress, and the time of night, what reason do you think is the most likely?"

"Oh!" Corporon put a hand up. "Evening run?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Er, telling." Corporon decided. "She's in sweats and a hoodie. And sneakers? She was attacked here at the river-front and there's a good running path that goes through this area. She's a college student, so nine o'clock at nine is the only time she can get out?" He shrugged like he didn't want to be too right.

"Keep going." Maggie prompted.

"Well... It could have just been an attack of opportunity. Someone was angry and took it out on the first person they saw. But the academy taught us that with the majority of murders, there's usually some connection between attacker and victim." Corporon went on. His voice got a little more steady the longer he spoke. "If- If Miss Morgan was a metahuman and her attacker was too, maybe they met in an online forum? And agreed to meet one day?"

"Or the attacker was not a metahuman." Hasegawa put in suddenly. Corporon visibly wilted.

Maggie swapped a quick look with Jim and they both nodded for the detective to continue.

"There has been anti-metahuman sentiment, Captain." Hasegawa said. "Mostly online. I haven't heard anything in person. Some of the forums that I'm a member of have been talking about the 'metahuman problem'. I'm Yonsei. My grandparents were Nisei. They talked a lot about the anti-Japanese sentiment during World War Two. The way these people online are talking, you could easily replace 'metahuman' with any minority group and it would sound the same."

"You're suggesting that this could have been a hate crime, in its own way." Jim realized.

Hasegawa nodded and the two veterans shared another look, this one more alarmed than the last.

"You both have good theories. We'll see how this pans out." Maggie said. "In the mean time, medical will take Miss Morgan to the morgue and Forensics will process the evidence. Both of you, your duty is to follow up the leads. Start with Miss Morgan's place of residence. Find out who her friends are, the people she interacted with, her online activities, etcetera. For the first half of this investigation, at least, your academy training won't let you down."

"Wait, wait!" Hasegawa suddenly looked mortified. "Do I have to work with Corprolite here?"

"Yes." Maggie smiled brightly. "Is that a problem?"

"Well, no _-_ -"

"Good. I strongly encourage teamwork among the SCU. It's the only way we can really make this work." the captain said. She didn't aim her gaze at either rookie in particular, but Hasegawa performed a visible squirm. "There is no room for competition in this department. Anyone who tries to upstage anyone else usually finds themselves at a loose end because they run off and try to be a hero and ended up in trouble that the rest of us are too late to rescue them from. I do not recommend learning that lesson the hard way. I'm not interested in losing anyone else. I made myself perfectly clear on day one and I will continue to make myself clear on day one hundred and one. We work together. We have each other's backs. We do not abandon our partners. We do not run off by ourselves. You can anagram 'me' out of 'team', but I'd prefer you forget that pronoun exists. Team is more than one person. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am." Corporon stood at attention with that academy graduate precision.

"Understood." Hasegawa said with a slight reluctance that she did her best to hide.

"Then dismissed. Hop to, I want a progress report before you clock out tonight." Maggie instructed.

The pair of them hurried away, leaving the two veterans standing inside the yellow tape.

"Making them work together will be good for them?" Jim guessed.

"That's the plan. Hasegawa could wind up with an ego problem otherwise. She'll probably terrorize Corporon into growing a spine and in turn, he'll snap at her spectacularly and she'll get over herself." Maggie predicted. "They might not be good for each other, but at least Hasegawa will learn herself to slow down."

"Or they'll kill each other."

"Or that."

Yumiko Hasegawa had been a last-minute addition to the original group of fifteen. Originally, Maggie had been told that none of the prospective graduates would be the valedictorian or even the salutorian. Just fairly average, somewhere around the fiftieth percentile. The ones that Chicago wouldn't mind passing along. But two days before graduation, Hasegawa had discovered her classmates' plan and had gone straight to her advisor to demand why she too hadn't been asked to transfer to Metropolis. The transfer had been requested by the cadets themselves almost a month ahead of graduation and they had all teamed up to present their case. Maggie had already approved them.

The twenty-year old was a bit full of herself; Maggie would freely admit it. The only child of her parents and somehow a bit spoiled despite her strict upbringing. She had written a long email to the captain explaining why she would be an asset to the SCU. It had included a lot of useless drivel about her spotless academic record, a thing that was mostly useless in practice. Academy training only went so far. At some point, it was seat-of-the-pants ingenuity and raw dumb luck that got an officer through a bad patch.

But Hasegawa had never been exposed to that. Her parents had always pushed her to be the best, but she had never been tested in a real world setting. She had entered the SCU anticipating... not preferential treatment, exactly, but certainly she had not expected to be slotted behind another desk to learn more procedure and conduct codes. She had expected to be treated differently, with acknowledgement of her supposed importance and maybe given a responsibility that her classmates wouldn't be privileged to.

But Maggie had put all of the rookies on the same level, regardless of what percentile they had graduated in. Four months of probation and further training until they had some kind of grasp on the basics of dealing with metahumans. John Jones and James Harper had been merciless.

"Still," Jim chuckled. "Corprolite. Not the worst I've heard, but still a bit cruel."

"I got lucky. 'Sawblade' is the closest I've gotten to an academy nickname." Maggie said, shrugging.

"Not me. First, I was Jim-Jam. Then Schmuckers Jam, the first time I face-planted in the obstacle course mud pit. By graduation, I was stressed out and pissing everyone off so I became Toe Jam." Jim said, rolling his eyes good naturedly. There hadn't been any point about getting angry with the nicknames (unless they were racistly offensive). It was just a natural part of spending _way too much time_ around the same group of people.

"You had delightful classmates." Maggie commented.

"You had uninspired ones."

He glanced at the dead body again.

"Do we have a category for this? Meta on meta violence?"

"I supposed we'd treat it no differently than person on person. It's just the methods we've have to change." Maggie shrugged. They had adapted well enough, or at least that was what she thought. The SCU had come along with a little more kicking and screaming than she would have liked, but they had adapted and that was the most important part.

"Why? Second thoughts?" she asked.

Jim frowned, fingers rubbing his chin. "It's hard to say. Something about this feels wrong, but that might just be because this is the first instance where a metahuman was possibly killed by another metahuman."

"Crime's moving along, Jim. It's our job to stay on top of it." Maggie said, shrugging as if to add _'what can you do'_. With that, she ducked back under the yellow tape and left.

Jim didn't like it. He couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but vague details about the murder didn't sit well with him. He had been in Major Crimes for five years, fielding every case that came his way and listening to the rumors that made their rounds. When strange happenings came down the pipe, the department talked. They talked _a lot_.

But never in those five years had he heard so much as a whisper about any murders weird enough to be Veitch'd. Not before. Not until now.

Nine months out from Superman. Five months since Metropolis had been met the Hellgrammites, like being slapped in the face with a wriggling fish. Two months since metahumans had really started to become a presence in not just Metropolis, but other cities as well.

There was a list of things that Jim didn't believe in and 'coincidence' was in the top ten.

The captain was right in the sense that crime was moving along and acclimating to the new reality, but Jim felt that some great big wheel already in motion was beginning to pick up speed. It was a feeling that begat uncertainty and he didn't like it.

But as Maggie walked back to the car, she had similar thoughts. She had been a cop too long to ignore the possibility that there was something greater at work here.

And Hasegawa wasn't necessarily wrong either. Anti-metahuman sentiment had been on a low simmer for two decades, ever since the Scare had ended in late nineteen eighty-seven after a four year period of blood and violence that had wreaked havoc across both American coasts. That wasn't something that had gone away. It had just taken on a very low key tone.

The memory of the violence still lingered.

It was picking up again, albeit online in the form of long rants and no action, but with enough passion that people were pausing to listen. Metropolis and Central City were epicenters for the increasing resentment. Superman had done nothing to actively bring about any real emnity, but Central City had the much reviled speedster, Zoom the Saffron Streak, who caused more damage than he prevented. He had started out as a decent hero-type, but his true asshole colors had come out over time.

The Gem Cities wanted him gone.

In Central, it was understandable. Ninety percent of population either hated or were indifferent towards the speedster, and actual fans were few and far between. But in Metropolis, it didn't make very much sense for that same hatred to be simmering lowly. Indifference Maggie could understand, but hatred? Superman had not been a detrimental presence to the city or its internal workings. Five hundred people who might not have lived to see the lunch hour on Friday had gone home safe and sound with little more than a handful of scrapes and bruises.

That was something that should at least get an applause.

Not a bunch of ill-tempered mumbling about how Superman was dangerous.

They weren't necessarily wrong. Superman did have powers that they couldn't beat and if he decided that the hero-life wasn't for him and went rogue, they'd have no way of stopping him.

But the fact that he _could_ use his powers for bad didn't even seem to occur to him.

It would pass, Maggie told herself optimistically. Even Superman continued to be what he was, the mumbling would go away and the old guard of anti-metahuman groups would turn their attention to the more prevalent problem of Zoom.

That was her hope, anyways.

It probably wouldn't turn out anything like that if the old guard had their say, but one could always hope.

* * *

The rain continued on through the morning, giving Metropolis a much-needed soaking. Somewhere along the hours, Maggie found just enough time to run back to her apartment, kiss her girlfriend, and accept breakfast in the form of a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich, and a fresh thermos of good coffee. She returned to the SCU building around eight-thirty.

"Morning gentlemen." Maggie called to the guards, waving her I.D. badge over the security reader. Frank and Hank, their Monday-Wednesday-Friday guards, waved back (Helen and Andrea were on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays).

"Mornin' Captain Sawyer." Frank said, pushing the clipboard towards her as she came through the turnstyle. "Gang's all here, far as I can tell. Brought a box of kittens with them."

"What? Why?"

Frank shrugged. "Found 'em out in the rain?" he guessed. "They're adorable, though. If they're up for adoption, I'll take two."

"I'll see what's going on." Maggie said, signing in with a flourish.

She took the elevator to the top floor, where it deposited her in the corridor just outside the bullpen and the break room. The sound of squeaking mews was audible and she followed that to the break room. Inside, Detective Jones and several of her Chicago rookies were on the floor with no less than seven black and white kittens. There was also a bag of kitten food and a filled litter box.

"All right, who's responsible for this invasion?" she asked, leaning on the door frame with her arms crossed. She could guess, though. This was not the first time she had come back to the office to find a stray or six.

The Chicago rookies looked up with nothing short of terror, their hands stilling and their faces blanching white. But they looked at Jones who had two kittens dozing in his lap.

"I have made some new friends." Jones declared, without looking up.

"I see that. Why did you bring them back here?" Maggie asked mildly.

"The shelter was too far." Jones replied. "They will find good homes. Frank is interested in adopting two of them. Colletta knows others who would also like to adopt. This is Dejah." He pointed to the kitten sleepily kneading his left knee. "This is Tarkas." He stroked the second kitten who was snuggled up to his belly. "I have named them. I am keeping them."

"You know the drill, Jones. You're responsible for them until they all find homes." Maggie reminded him. She glanced at the rookies, whose expressions were fading from terror to bafflement. "It's not the first time he's done this. He's very sympathetic to strays."

Empathetic, more like. Jones was telepathic, and while he didn't sense animal emotions as keenly as he sensed human emotions, he was still very much aware of them.

 _He was a stray himself, once upon a time._

"Morning meeting in fifteen, folks." Maggie said. "We've got another long week ahead of us and we need to make sure everything's sorted ahead of time."

Leaving the rookies to unclench their sphincters, the captain went across the hall to the bullpen and did a headcount. It took her longer now that they had more people and they were more spread out. Mitch and Lyle were usually holed up in the Forensics labs along with rookie Reginald Deboer who had done a minor in forensics. Lupe had the entire dispatch room to herself. Turpin had his own office, as did their supervising commander. Today, as always, everyone was accounted for.

Across the room, Turpin spotted her and started to make his way over. The detective had been her right-hand man for nearly the entire time Maggie had been in charge of the SCU, so about four years this past May. He had weirdly black-gray hair and wild eyebrows that made him look very stern and severe. He had the personality of an ill-tempered bulldog, but all the loyalty too.

"G'morning, Dan." she said.

"Mornin' Mags. How'd the kids do this morning?" Turpin asked.

"Corporon and Hasegawa will either kill each other or become best friends." Maggie commented. "It was a murder. Nothing real unusual, even as far as metahumans go. It just looks a bit more gruesome than usual."

"Speaking of gruesome," Turpin started with a pronounced scowl. "Commander Friedland wanted to talk to you as soon as you came in."

"What about?"

"Don't know, but he showed up with someone so nerdy the kid makes Lyle look well-socialized."

Maggie scowled herself. "New hire. Probably records. He's got a bug up his ass about that." she grunted. Their records were a mess, but they were getting them straightened out and they already had a clerk. They didn't need any of Commander Friedland's recommendations.

"I'll be in with the commander. Herd this lot into the conference room and get them started if I'm not back in fifteen minutes." Maggie instructed.

"Sure thing, Capt'n."

A second corridor just off the bullpen led to the offices. Commander Gray Friedland, their supervisor, had the first door on the right. His name and position occupied a shiny brass plate on the door. It was standing open and Maggie could hear his distinctive rumbling voice speaking to someone. He was quieter on the phone, so the person was definitely in the room with him.

She rapped her knuckles on the door and stepped onto the threshold.

"Captain Sawyer!" Commander Friedland greeted her with a jovialness that was a bit false. "Come in, there's someone you should meet. This is Tyler Jones. I've hired him to manage Records."

He gestured to the boy seated in front of his desk. Young man, actually, but he really looked like a boy even from Maggie's lofty age of thirty-three. Tyler Jones looked like the kind of nerd that would have been shut in a locker even at Maggie's conservative Catholic high school. He had the pocket protector, the glasses with the thick frames, a large beaky nose, the severely parted hair, and pocked acne scars. He was prim and proper-looking, very neat and put together. Like he still starched his shirt collars and ironed his slacks to a sharp crease. His shoes were as shiny as his face.

Quite honestly, he resembled a sourpuss version of her younger brother, but that did nothing to endear him to her. It was the opposite; Maggie resented the resemblance.

"Good morning, Captain Sawyer." Mr. Jones said in a slightly nasal voice like his sinuses were perpetually clogged. He stood up from the chair and strode over to her with a hand outstretched. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in the future."

And he sounded like he had swallowed a copy of some motivational "Job Interviews for Idiots" type book. His handshake was a little too squeezing _-_ \- overcompensating for an otherwise weak grip. He looked bland, expressionless, and his movements were robotic.

"Mr. Jones, I need to have a word with the commander. Could you wait in the hallway?" Maggie requested.

"Yes." Mr. Jones acqueiseced without a flicker in his neutral expression. He retrieved his briefcase from beside the chair and left the office in short measured strides. Maggie shut the door behind him and then approached the desk with a parade stride.

Commander Friedland drew back just a little, masking the movement as simply leaning back, but the retreat was in his eyes. The look in them changed slightly, from sort of satisfied to a bit worried.

"Captain, is there a problem?"

"Yes. We've discussed this before. At least twice. All new hires and termination go through me first. They need my approval or nothing happens." Maggie reminded him. "You do not actually have the authority to hire anyone. Or fire them, for that matter."

The commander had already demonstrated a knack for ignoring the fact that Maggie essentially made up their Human Resources desk. He had already tried to remove Sergeant Kesel from her post, on the account that her narcotics speciality didn't have much bearing on the SCU. He had also tried to oust Colletta _-_ \- because she was black and bisexual. He had dressed it up as a lack of professionality on her part, but it was clear that his attempt had been rooted in racism and biphobia. Commander Friedland was very old and stuck in his biases and took offense at Colletta's coiled hair.

"In any case, we already have someone in Records."

"She's very pregnant. She won't be here much longer."

"She'll be on maternity leave and she'll still have her job when she comes back." Maggie said firmly. "I have no issue with hiring a second clerk, but with all due respect, you do not actually out-rank me here."

"Captain, I hate to remind you _-_ -"

"You are the supervisor, but I'm the commander. At the end of the day, I'm the one who makes the final decisions around here. Including the hiring and firing. If you keep trying to undermine me-"

"I'm not undermining you _-_ -"

"You're going behind my back trying to hire people I've never seen a resumé from."

"You say that like I've done it a dozen times."

"Once is too many. Andrea gives me the shivers whenever she's on shift."

For all Maggie knew about Andrea Diné, Commander Friedland could have found her wasted in a back alley in the Suicide Slums. She had the look of a former junkie who had only _just_ gotten clean. Dark circles under her eyes. Straggly brown hair just this side of scrubbed. A pale, washed-out appearance. Someone who had been living rough for a long time. But no resumé. The only thing on file for Ms. Diné was a clean drug test and a criminal background check.

"And now Tyler Jones? Where's his resumé? Why haven't I seen it? Where's his drug test, his background check? Why am I just now learning of his existence?" Maggie demanded.

"Captain Sawyer, I was transferred to bring the SCU into line." Commander Friedland started in a weary, long-suffering kind of way.

"No you weren't. You were transferred because there's a system of accountability in place and the SCU needed a new supervisor." Maggie corrected.

"And I'm still talking!" Commander Friedland snapped. His voice echoed sharply in the confined office, making the captain wince. "We've got metahumans being attacked by other metahumans and that's a disaster in the making we can't have. The city will turn to us to solve these crimes and do something to prevent them from running around so freely. We need people on the team who can keep up with the changing tides. No offense to Miss Blunt, but she is seven going on eight months pregnant and she will be on maternity leave for five months. We need a man in Records who isn't going to be distracted by outside commitments. This is one instance where I'm overriding your authority on the matter, Captain Sawyer. Mr. Jones stays."

"Commander Friedland _-_ -" Maggie said, but that was all she got out.

"Mr. Jones. _Stays_."

He said it in such a firm and angry voice that it was abundantly clear he was not about to hear an argument against it and Maggie was almost too taken aback to try and start one. Commander Friedland did have the authority to override her, but the circumstances in which he could do so were very limited. She had to be emotionally compromised by the case(s), and so much so that she was clearly endangering the health and safety of the department.

Pulling rank on her in the case of hiring decisions was a blatant abuse of his override power.

And it wasn't just him throwing that card in her face, but another thing he had said. Another thing he couldn't possibly already know about. Jim, Hasegawa, and Corporon had arrived only five minutes ahead of her.

"Mr. Jones stays." Maggie repeated, but because it was the only words she could get past the shock.

Commander Friedland smiled his broad smile. "I'm pleased you agree. He'll be a valuable asset to this department, Captain Sawyer. You have nothing to worry about. I'll deal with his orientation, get him settled in, and all the minutia. He'll have a good feel for things by the end of the week. He won't let us down."

"Of course..." the captain said vaguely.

"Go on." Friedland made a shooing motion. "Your morning meeting is soon. I won't be in this one; I'll be helping our new records clerk."

Maggie nodded for lack of anything to say and walked out of the office. Mr. Jones was still there in the hallway, neat and unruffled and thoroughly bored-looking.

"Hello Captain Sawyer." he said politely, like he hadn't just seen her five minutes ago. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." Maggie shook her head. "Go back in. He's not done with you yet."

Mr. Jones strode past her with the same measured pace and shut the office door behind him. Maggie got two steps away before she had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself.

The problem with Gray Friedland was simple: she already knew he was Fuck-face McGee. She just didn't know how to prove it to the right people.

He was old, biased, and he spoke too often like he used to be a member of the old anti-metahuman factions back in the day. He treated the SCU less like it was a control department, but more like a hunter-killer group. He acted like their job was to suppress and kill every metahuman they encountered, no matter how harmless the person was.

The SCU was a police department. Their job was to deal with the lawbreakers, not indiscriminately kill a person just because they could move things with their mind.

If the commander was overriding her on the matter of hiring a person, how long would it be before he moved on to things like overriding her on things like arrest and detainment? How long would it be before he took things too far?

She hurried back into the slowly clearing bullpen and grabbed Jim Gordon by the shoulder before he could stand up from his desk.

"Did you tell Friedland about the murder this morning? Angela Morgan?"

"No, initial reports aren't even in the system yet and the kids just sat down." Jim gestured to the computer screen and the half-filled report. "Why?"

"He already knows."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that, he already knows about the murder. 'We've got metahumans attacking metahumans', he said to me." Maggie explained.

Jim frowned harder. "Do you think we have a leak in the department?"

"That's one hell of an accusation, Gordon, but at this point, it's a possibility I'm willing to entertain."

Folks like Officers Binghamton and Petruzzelli might have indeed let spill about the murder if they had actually called up the commander to complain about her. She would have to check the call log, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Otherwise, there was a leak within the department and it would have to be either with the security guards or the Chicago rookies. Hasegawa might have complained about the case to fellow detective Leon Gillian; they were amiable with each other. Corporon only really talked to Officer Chatmon, but it was in that awkward, stuttering _"can't talk to girls"_ way and the small talk was painful to behold. But really, any one of them could have overheard and reported back to Commander Friedland.

"I'll find out." Jim offered. The commander has always rubbed him the wrong way. It would be good to see whether or not his suspicions were unfounded.

"Keep it discreet." Maggie instructed. "If it's any of the rookies, they may have no idea that this isn't acceptable. If it's someone on the outside, then it's probably someone who still thinks we've gotten too big for our britches. If Friedland is up to no good, the easiest way to catch him is to let him incriminate himself."

"I know how to investigate on the sly, Capt'n." the detective assured her, smiling. "And I know how to rumble a perp. I wouldn't make it as a cop if I didn't."

"I know, I'm just saying 'be careful'. Friedland's full of shit and oozing bigotry." Maggie said, something the detective already knew.

Jim nodded and smiled one more time just to reassure her that he knew what to do and how to do it. Inside, he was seething with... glee, perhaps? Some sort of giddy, self-satisfied emotion that he would finally get to do the thing he had wanted to do for a while now: Figure out if Commander Gray Friedland was a dirty cop.

He wasn't sure when the suspicion had developed. Sometimes Commander Friedland had made remarks that were a tad... _off color_. Complained a little too pointedly for Jim's liking. Made oddly specific references that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Things that were just out of place enough to send Jim's instincts into a wild tail spin.

And now he had a blank check to _really_ start investigating.

* * *

-0-


	5. Dead Ringer

For such a purported "tricky" tooth extraction, the dentist just pried that fucker right out.

So you know what's coming back to bite me? The fact I wrote this story in four months and had no broad outline, so some of plot-threads got dumped on the wayside before I remembered to pick them up again. I really dropped the ball on the whole "shady police business" sub-plot. Sure it's not going to get a full resolution until the final part of the trilogy because that's the whole impetus behind "Jim Gordon does something dumb and gets his ass sent to Gotham", but I can do other shit with it in the mean time. And I need to re-write the ending so it's less of- what it is.

This won't delay updates, as it's well down the line and I've already started in on the new additions. You lucky readers you, you're just going to get a longer story.

* * *

Chapter Five: Dead Ringer

Even in a city of straight lines, there was still that one patch that gnarled and curved at sharp angles. In Metropolis, the lines got twisted over LexCorp, as though they had gotten caught in the light reflecting off the bald pate of Lex Luthor's head.

LexCorp, in various incarnations, had been a prominent force in Metropolis's economy since Wallace Luthor had capitalized on the then-small city's newly-discovered copper mine. The company's history had not been peaceful. The Luthor family, on the whole, was an ambitious bunch with little scruples for who got in their way. Wallace's death by car accident hadn't felt like an accident, the fire in Lachlan's apartment had certainly been suspicious, and when Lionel Luthor had swan-dived off the fortieth-floor balcony, the speculation of whether or not that had actually been a suicide had run rampant.

Lex Luthor had no children.

He planned to keep it that way.

Up in his office on the tower's highest floor, Luthor reviewed his notes for the upcoming presentation. This weekend was his exposition, to showcase the young talent in the city and to unveil his newest project. LexCorp was planning to debut a brand-new piece of equipment that had the potential to revolutionize law enforcement. Essentially a suit of power armor, initially developed for search and rescue operations. The exo-suit would increase the driver's strength, allowing them to lift cars and slabs of concrete with ease and wade through dangerous situations with no harm to the driver. The face-plate's Heads Up Display offered thermal imagining, bomb detection, and even danger assessment. The addition of armor plating and munitions would make it suitable for police officers as well.

It was a magnificent piece of technology and he had no doubts that it would serve the city well in the years to come.

"Mr. Luthor!"

The double doors banged open and in stomped John Henry Irons, the project's director and the creator of the exo-suits. He only made it a step over the threshold before he was caught in Mercy's vice-like grip. Irons glared at her, as if challenging her to try and hang on. Mercy's eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened around the man's arm.

"Let him go, Mercy. It's fine." Luthor instructed calmly. His bodyguard could break bones and he valued Irons just enough.

She released Irons reluctantly and gave him a glare that distinctly warned him _'I'm watching you.'_ Irons rubbed his arm and frowned angrily, though there was something rather spooked about his expression.

"You'll have to forgive Mercy for being very good at her job." Luthor said, beckoning the man to come forward. "Now, Mr. Irons. What can I help you with today?"

"You didn't tell me you were showcasing the suits at the expo." Irons said evenly. His shoulders straightened automatically. He was the one standing, but he felt three inches tall.

"Didn't I? I could have sworn one of my assistants put the memo on your desk weeks ago." Luthor replied.

If Irons had kept a messy desk, it might have been plausible to accept that the memo had simply gotten lost amid the clutter. But his desk was neat and straight and he always knew where everything was. He would have seen a memo, if there had actually been one.

"It doesn't matter, Mr. Luthor." Irons said, knowing it would be useless to try and argue that one. "What matters is this showcase. It's too soon! I'm still running diagnostics on the suits; there are still bugs to work out. There's going to be problems. This could endanger someone's life!"

Luthor shuffled his notes back into neat order and stood up from the chair. It was a slow, oily kind of movement redolent with power. A man who was aware of every inch of his body and knew just how to make himself loom without actually doing so. He was a tall man at six-foot-three and cut a powerful figure in his tailored-suits, with a deep baritone voice to match.

Lex Luthor never moved in a way that wasn't deliberate.

"Mr. Irons, we're not going to use the exo-suits at full power." he assured the project director. "It's just a little demonstration to get the investors and the buyers interested. I would _never_ endanger lives like that."

Irons shook his head. "It's still too soon for a demonstration." he said. "Do you know what this could do to Corben if there's a malfunction? His nervous system is going to be wired into the suit and the interface is still unstable! This goes way beyond bio-feedback. If something goes wrong before I'm sure we've handled all the bugs, the psychological ramifications could be enormous! Increased aggression, paranoia, delusions and that's if the feedback doesn't kill him! I'm telling you that you need to call this off!"

"Absolutely not." Luthor replied firmly, tucking his hands behind his back. "There will be hundreds of people there this weekend who will have come to see the exo-suits in action and I never like to disappoint an audience. **If** there are problems, we'll deal with them when they arise."

"That's not how I operate." Irons said.

"Oh yes it is. You work for me, and with just a few phones calls, I can ruin your chances of obtaining legitimate paying work inside this city or out of it." Luthor stated. He dropped his head down an inch to look Irons in the eye. "Is that clear?"

For a second, an obvious tremor shook Irons's spine, but he firmed it up almost immediately. He couldn't compromise his morals just so they fit Lex Luthor's grand vision.

"I can't go along with this, Mr. Luthor." he said.

Luthor nodded like he had expected this all along. "Be sure to turn your I.D. over to the front desk once you've finished cleaning out your office." he said. He understood. Sometimes, you just couldn't expect to hang on to the good employees.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Irons said simply, not batting an eye at being fired. It wasn't the worse that could have happened to him. Some people who went to complain to Luthor just didn't come out of his office. There were rumors about what happened to them and the one people entertained most of all was 'secret trap door'.

"I'm glad we do." Luthor agreed. "Thank you for voicing your concerns. I'll be sure to take them into account as we move further into the final phases."

Irons's lower jaw jutted out briefly like he was trying to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn't argue. Luthor had to admire the man's self-control in the face of someone he truly disliked. He made an 'after-you' gesture towards Irons. The former project director straightened his tie and with his chin up proudly, he walked out of the large office.

Luthor followed him out, nearly stepping on the other man's heels. Irons pretended he couldn't feel it, though he did pick up his pace a little until he was nearly jogging away. In the hallway, Mercy narrowed her eyes questioningly and tilted her head after Irons.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear. The problem took care of itself, like any good problem should." Luthor assured her. "I think we will have to keep an eye on John Henry Irons for a little while, though, to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Like talk to a reporter looking for a good story."

There were a few out there who would be more than happy to regurgitate whatever he said. They always needed watching.

Luthor checked his watch. It was almost time for his meeting with the Chinese investors and it was bound to be a fruitful one. The exo-suits were the next big thing LexCorp would put out. He was fully confident that they were going to change a city, and then a nation, and then a world, and put the company on the map in an even bigger way.

There was no way they couldn't.

* * *

The Thursday morning edition of the _Daily Planet_ in hand, Lois strode across the news-room with the stalking grace of a hunting cat. Anyone who might have stopped to talk to her didn't; her expression was not inclined to be sociable. It was the opposite. People stepped back or pretended that they didn't notice her walking past their desks. The headline read: **CEO MEREDITH FURIE ARRESTED FOR FUTURE WORLD ATTACK**. The name in the byline was 'Clark Kent'.

She had a bone to pick with him.

Clark was never oblivious to her stalking approach, even if he acted like it. It was some subtle shift in the set of his shoulders, the way his typing fingers hesitated for a second. The way he didn't jump or flinch when Lois slapped the paper down on his desk.

"I'm confused, Smallville." Lois began, leaning on the edge. "See, I've lived in Metropolis most of my life and I can't figure out how some yokel from Kansas is suddenly getting every hot story in town."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Oh yeah. First the attack on Future World Industries and then the story about the police arresting Meredith Furie for it." Lois nodded. "For one thing, I can't figure out how you're getting around town so fast. I'd be angry at you if I wasn't so impressed."

"Well, you did mentor me." Clark reminded her.

"And you've learned very well." Lois agreed, then leaned so far into Clark's personal space that she might as well have been paying rent. Clark had to lean back, else they would have conked foreheads. "So what's your secret, Smallville? How did the pupil come to overshadow the master?"

"My secret? Well, Lois, the truth is..." Here, Clark lowered his voice to a whisper and beckoned for her to lean in a little more. "I'm actually Superman in disguise and I only pretend to be a journalist in order to hear about disasters as they happen and then squeeze you out of the byline."

He expected Lois to give him a _look_ _-_ \- the one she always gave him when she thought he was talking shit _-_ \- but not for a sudden twitch to develop under her eye, or for the way her whole body tensed and her heart-rate picked up. Her intense expression became quite fixed and rigid and with that little twitch under her eye, it became somewhat of a mad expression as well. Her hands clenched into fists. For a wild second, Clark wondered if she was going to grab him around the neck, shake him, and scream ' _are you?! are you Superman?!'_

"That is not funny, Smallville." she said quietly, deadly, eyes narrowed.

She pushed up off his desk with a bit of a flounce and did a half-spin to drop into her own chair in front of his desk.

"Can't say I never told you." Clark mumbled, shrugging.

Not much of it was a lie, at least. He wasn't actually trying to squeeze Lois out of the byline; it was just a side-effect of getting to the stories first. And he wasn't pretending to be a journalist. Hearing about the disasters as they happened was another side-effect of the job.

"So!" Lois snatched the paper off his desk and flourished it out flat in front of her. "What is the story behind the arrest of the Atlas Industries CEO?"

"Why are you asking me? You could just read the article."

"I like the sound of your voice seranading me with stone-cold facts." Lois replied, grinning.

"Well, there wasn't much, to be honest." Clark admitted. "LexCorp released last April's security footage to the police, the one from the night the drones were stolen. Ms. Furie appeared on camera. They didn't even need facial recognition."

"She wouldn't be so sloppy." Lois muttered, referring to the suspected CEO.

"She was caught on tape." Clark said. Being caught on tape was usually pretty damning evidence all by itself.

"Yeah, but Furie is a respected business woman. She wouldn't risk her entire company just to swipe some hardware from Luthor. At least, she wouldn't be so blatant about it." Lois pointed out. "Furie is smart. She'd propose a partnership and get herself into the system before trying to conduct industrial espionage. And more importantly, _she_ wouldn't do it. An underling would take the job instead and they wouldn't be connected to the company. And stop giving me looks like that, Smallville. The more I try to get into Luthor's bald head, the better chance I have at bringing him down."

She reached across his desk and snagged a tomato slice from the pile he had brought in for a snack before he could tell her off for stealing his food. She shoved the slice in her mouth with a smug expression and chewed twice before stopping.

"Oh my god... I can smell it just as much as I can taste it." she commented. It was the good earthy sort of smell that went all the way down to her toes. The taste of the tomato was a bit tart, but tangy and rich and just the tiniest bit sweet as well. "Where did you get this? I never find tomatos so fresh my _scalp_ can taste it. This is black magic, Smallville."

"It's from my garden. I picked it just this morning." Clark reminded her. His apartment deck now hosted a modest array of vegetable plants, most of them coming in ripe and numerous. Smallville's _other_ idea for housewarming gifts, aside from tupperware and coffee mugs, were pots and planter trays and seeds. Going away from Smallville did not mean having to give up fresh vegetables. And it was calming to put his hands into fresh potting soil and watch the plants grow like weeds in the wet. To watch his vegetables flower and fruit, all healthy and green. It took him away from the hustle and bustle of the city for a while. Made him slow down a few paces and just _relax_.

"Ah, farm boy strikes again." Lois nodded. She helped herself to another tomato slice. "How is the little garden doing?"

Although if the tomatoes were any indication, it was doing damn well.

"The snow peas are ripe, if you're interested. I need to snip back the spinach. And the cherry tomatoes are about to ripen en masse." Clark said thoughtfully. That damn cherry tomato plant... It had been so wilted and pathetic-looking before he'd been able to put it outside when the weather had warmed. Then it had perked right up a day later and there so many almost-ripe little fruits on the vine they were going to be coming off any second.

"Tell you what. Dinner." Lois decided.

"Dinner?"

"At your place. I can make a mean stir-fry. We can make rice to go with it and there's a place that does some really good naan--" Lois broke off and shook her head. "No, I can't. Not tonight, I have plans. I almost forgot."

"Some other night, then." Clark agreed. "What sort of plans?"

"Dinner with the general." Lois told him, rubbing the side of her head like she had a headache. "I agreed last week and since he's making an effort, I guess I should too."

It seemed that having a plan blow up in his face had given General Lane the idea of reconsidering his perspective on a few things. Namely, reconnecting with his daughters. It was slow, tedious going. They weren't going to be the Sunday dinner family. Salutes and titles still got tossed around a bit mockingly and the visits were filled to the brim with awkward silences, but General Lane went at it with his usual tenacity and commitment. There were things that Lois still didn't think she could forgive her father for. And he was still pretty bad at communicating his intentions.

But the point was, he was trying _-_ \- actively trying to be a better paternal figure. Some days, that was the only thing Lois had ever asked for.

That, and she could finally talk to the old man without automatically snarking back, so it was progress.

"How's Lucy?" Clark asked. "She started, what seventh grade this year?"

"Eighth grade." Lois corrected. "And she's good. Even got her hands in the newspaper club. She'll be taking the high school by storm in no time. I'll tell her you asked after her."

She grabbed another tomato slice and munched it thoughtfully as she wondered just how to approach the next subject on her itinerary. There was no good opening for it, no matter came out of Clark's mouth. There was _etiquette_ involved in a question like this and she couldn't just _blurt_ it out.

But she had a theory.

Clark Kent was Superman.

It was a hard theory to prove, admittedly. Not just for lack of evidence, but because no one gave a shit as to whether or not Superman had a secret identity and no one was in much of a mind to find out. Not much of a shit, at any rate. He was an alien refugee named Kal-El who had built himself a home on an Antarctic island. That was all anyone knew and that was all they cared to know.

Lois had decided to leave out of the interview the part about him growing up solely on planet Earth. It felt like she had been told that in confidence and it hadn't seemed right putting it in the paper.

But Lois was sure of her theory.

For one thing, she had never seen Clark or Superman in the same place at the same time. Furthermore, neither had anyone else. If Superman was there, you could damn well bet that Clark Kent wasn't.

Which brought up another point. Clark had logged quite a few of the less explosive Superman stories in the past nine months despite eyewitnesses never putting him in the same area at the same time, so that wasn't just Lois's imagination. The most recent example was that Superman had agreed to allow S.T.A.R. Labs to study the shuttle that had brought him to Earth all those years ago and see what they got out of it. There had been an article on it.

The name in the byline?

Clark Kent.

Except that none of the scientists present at the time had been able to recall if a reporter had even been there.

If Lois didn't think about it too hard, it made sense. Clark was the sort of guy who managed to blend into the background despite his appearance and he didn't exactly announce himself to the world.

But S.T.A.R. Labs recorded all visitors as far back as six months before they wiped the records and a bit of creative fibbing had gotten Lois a look at the guest book. The day Clark had claimed to be there, his name hadn't been on the guest book.

So there was that too.

How had Clark gotten an on-the-ground account of the event when all evidence suggested that he hadn't been there?

For Lois, the answer was simple. He had been there, just not as Clark Kent.

Lastly (and this was very important to Lois), Clark was a dead ringer for Superman.

Because while that boy hunched like there was no tomorrow and wore shirts two sizes too big, there was no really good way of hiding his chiseled physique when you were standing too close. There was no proper way of disguising his broad shoulders or muscular arms. He had the right shade of hair and it was the right length. The eye color was all wrong, but color contacts. And the distracting glasses. Even his bone structure was right.

That, and Superman had a habit of showing up to the rescue whenever one of Lois's assignments went to pot and left her dangling over the side of a building or sinking to the bottom of Lake Superior again. She didn't believe for a _second_ that it was a combination of good timing and good hearing. No way she was swallowing that load of bullshit. The frequency of Superman's arrivals implied that he didn't just know her daily schedule, he knew it _intimately_. He knew like he had talked it over with her before setting out for the day.

There were only two people whom Lois spent any significant amount of time talking to that didn't already bear the last name 'Lane'.

Perry White and Clark Kent.

And since Perry was a fifty-plus year old black man with graying hair, wrinkled skin, and elevated stress levels, that left only one other candidate.

But if Clark Kent was Superman was Clark Kent, then neither was about to let the world know, much less Lois Lane. It was all but tradition for super-heroes to maintain secret identities. A few had bucked it: like Jay Garrick the Flash and Alan Scott the Green Lantern. They had been almost immediately forthcoming with their own names. Wonder Woman had encouraged people to call her 'Diana' (it hadn't really caught on). Dr. Fate hadn't been much in the mind for a secret identity either. As Kent Nelson, he had performed magic shows around the world, always suiting in full get-up for his grand finale.

But all of the others had kept their secret identities under lock and key.

So perhaps Superman was just following tradition and it was probably the best way to keep _Clark Kent's_ privacy intact. It wasn't like there was a law demanding that he go public with his name.

Still, it was the idea that Superman was Clark Kent and acted like he **didn't** trust Lois Lane with the information. She wouldn't spread something like that around! She had way more journalistic integrity than that!

It was like he hadn't learned anything in the last nine months.

Speaking of which, the past nine months had been among the most interesting of Lois's life and that was saying something.

There was still no truly official word as to who had been behind the averted bombing attack on the city last year. Sofia Gigante had claimed responsibility for it, but Lois wasn't the only one who didn't believe that. The terrorist video still made its rounds around the Metropolis circles of the internet and the police were still regularly urging for anyone with useful information to come forward.

It was on the back burner these days. The city was fine and the scars were no longer visible, so it hadn't stuck too deep in the public consciousness.

But the West River had never looked so shiny before.

The relocation effort had been the worst part of the renewal. There was a massive logistical snarl to relocating five hundred thousand people without creating a shanty-town in the process. But Mayor Kovac's grid plan was working. Grid A residents had been moved into the newer apartments that already existed in lower Cheswalk and the grid itself was being systematically bulldozed. Businesses were moving in, small and large alike, bringing work and a better class of living to the once destitute neighborhood.

It was no longer a blight on the city's image, but a beacon for a brighter tomorrow. It was Metropolis's way of announcing that they had room for improvement and they were taking full advantage of it.

There was still the small matter of Metrodale and the Suicide Slums, but one neighborhood at a time.

Superman had made a name for himself as well in the past nine months, both here at home and around the world. In Metropolis, he had met with the likes of Leo Quigley, who had been extorting the wealthy and then putting arrows in them. There had been the Laughing Gas Bandits, who incapacitated their victims with nitrous oxide and robbed them blind.

Jeremiah "Slug" Kelley had been conning school children out of their pocket money using a phony arcade as his front. Lucy had proved that snooping for the truth was an inherited Lane trait; she had brought the matter to her sister's attention. Albert Cadwell, head of the Department of Metropolis Transit had been sabotaging the rail lines in order to collect the insurance money.

Martin LeBeau and Goldie Gates, on separate instances, had tried to take advantage of West River's situation. LeBeau had been going around wringing protection money out of the construction foremen and indulging in sabotage when they didn't comply, while Miss Gates had masterminded an insurance scandal on the unsuspecting residents who had just moved into one of the new apartments.

Then, Superman's famous compassion had shown through brightly with Lizzie and Big Susan, two young, homeless teens who had been robbing stores for food and money and clothes. It had been a mystery as to how they had gotten away with it for so long, but when Superman had confronted them, he found out that both girls were metahumans.

The first of the new generation.

Big Susan had super-strength and Lizzie was telekinetic, thereby allowing them access to even the most tightly locked spaces. Anything that Big Susan couldn't punch out of the way, Lizzie could manipulate open.

But rather than give them hell over their actions, Superman had sat them down and asked why they were living on the streets and robbing stores.

It had taken two sandwiches each to get the story out of them. As it turned out, they had been desperate as opposed to malicious. They were both homeless for basically the same reason; their powers. Big Susan had run away out of fear of hurting her parents. Lizzie had run away because her parents were hurting her. They had found each other on the streets.

Superman had recruited Lois to take notes, put their story out there, and call further attention to the plight of Metropolis's homeless children. To make her words count for even more.

She remembered the hours vividly. It had been just after a usual early June rainstorm and the ground had been damp. Both of the girls had been thin and stringy, with a kind of feral rangy look one got after a while of living on the edge. Whatever food they stole was divvied up among a dozen other homeless children, most of them teenage runaways who had left home for many of the same reasons and some with meta-powers of their own. They had all lived under the Warsaw Bridge, where the foundations pushed back a little to create an alcove, mostly sheltered from the elements.

Within a day of putting out the article, the city had responded.

There was talk of a shelter for at-risk teens, particularly those who had meta-powers _-_ \- who had run from their parents and the foster system. Those teens whose parents wanted them to return were encouraged to do so. Those teens who had escaped dangerous situations had been accepted into shelters and better foster homes. The city couldn't do much more than talk about the shelter for now, since getting one running in such a short period of time was another logistical snarl, but the plans were being drawn up day by day. Donations of clothes and food, at least, were on the rise.

Big Susan had since moved back in with her parents; they had welcomed her back with open arms and unflinchingly welcomed Lizzie as well, knowing the girls had stuck together so long that they wouldn't take well to being separated. Lois knew that Superman still checked on the girls every week or so, helping Big Susan come to grips with her strength and just being a good pillar of moral support for Lizzie.

This had cemented Superman's reputation for just being a really good guy.

Most of Metropolis had raised its hands in applause for this. Superman had gone out of his way to help the two girls and ended up aiding pretty much the rest of the city's population of homeless children in the process. That was the act of a true Good Samaritan. He hadn't even used his powers for it. Just solid compassion, a little bit of patience, and a listening ear.

There were some cases where a person didn't need superpowers to be extraordinary.

Lois's butt had been planted on damp concrete for two and a half hours, listening to the two young teenagers spill their stories, but half her attention had been consumed by Superman's face. His stupid handsome face with its defined cheekbones and strong chin and at one point, the light had caught him just right and she'd almost gasped. Because in that second, Superman had looked too much like Clark to be a coincidence.

The idea had always been circling the back of her head, that Clark Kent was Superman _-_ \- coming to the forefront once in a while to spew out wild theories and point out odd coincidences that couldn't be passed off as harmless. She had never truly pursued any of her own suspicions _-_ \- she had promised Superman that she wouldn't go snooping into his own past, after all, and that was one promise she had intended to keep.

But then the Tweeds had happened and that was when Lois had really begun to entertain the possibility that Clark Kent was Superman.

A married couple running one of the city's last legitimate orphanages _-_ \- ahem, children's home, the Tweeds had always toed the line between 'good-hearted people' and 'kind of shady'. As with many things, there was no direct evidence that they were up to something underhanded, but it went without saying that Metrodale was a poor neighborhood in basically every conceivable aspect. Shady, underhanded occurrences were part and parcel to the whole borough.

There had been rumors _-_ \- fueled by the shabbiness of the children's clothes and the semi-crumbled state of the building, versus the Tweeds' fine outwear and new cars _-_ \- that the Tweeds had been appropriating the support money. The place had been on Lois's radar for months. When she had finally gone to check it out, the only person who knew of it was Clark.

Then she had gotten into trouble after uncovering the Tweeds' shady secrets (hoarding the money and forcing the children to subsist on substandard food, no medical attention, etcetera) and it was Superman who had swooped in to her rescue.

So unless Superman was eavesdropping on her conversations...

So far, Lois had **not** confronted Clark about this. No, it was way too early for that. She didn't have nearly enough proof to corner him in a trap of his own making. The only proof she had was that Clark and Superman were never in the same place at the same time. Clark's excuses for that were generally passable and even the holes she poked in them were small. He never squirmed or gave any indication that she had just caught him lying. To be honest, she wasn't sure what his tells were. Clark might tug at his shirt collar. Or he'd fiddle with his cuffs or turn his phone over in his hands. He never did the same thing twice in a row.

If Lois didn't come after him with proof, he could just laugh her off (again) and deny, deny, deny to his heart's content. She needed definite, inalienable proof that he was (or wasn't) Superman.

"Lane! Kent!" Perry White barked, already halfway to their desks. He had that spring in his step that indicated he had just found out about a particularly juicy story.

"What's up, chief?" Lois chirped, grinning.

"Don't call me that." Perry ordered absently. "You're on the clock now. Ms. Furie's lawyers sprung her from Stryker's an hour ago."

"Already?" Clark glanced at the clock. "It hasn't even been a full forty-eight hours since they arrested her. Did they even process her?"

"Money greases the squeaky wheel of justice, Smallville, and Ms. Furie's loaded." Lois pointed out. "Want us to get the scoop, Perry?"

"She's making a public statement. Just announced it. A press conference at the Gold, in an hour. Gird your loins, you're heading into battle." Perry told them seriously. "Make sure to take your badges. There'll be tight security. It's even worse than you think. They didn't just nail her on the Future World attack; they're saying she's behind last year's bombing as well."

"No way!" Lois gasped.

Perry was already nodding. "Oh yes, that's the word I'm getting from my contact. This one's hot. You two better get on it quick."

Lois reached over and smacked Clark lightly on the arm. "You heard the grumpy man, Smallville." she said. "Let's hit the town."

She wasn't about to let it go, her theory. Never in a million years was this one going to slip by her. But she would put it aside for the moment. There was a story to be had!

* * *

-0-


	6. The Gorilla Test

The answer to "Does Lois know Clark is Superman?" is: Sort of. She has a lot of suspicions, but it's all circumstantial and there's nothing she can reliably prove. Up until a little while ago, she had no reason to think that Clark _could_ be Superman. Like I said, she only started getting properly suspicious about two months earlier. Clark has also gotten a lot better at hiding his abilities since Trask rolled up into Smallville a few years back.

The funny thing is, I orginally wasn't planning to let Lois in on the big secret this early. But then I realized that some of the future storylines would be a lot less complicated to write if Lois already knew Clark was Superman. I figured that the nine-month gap between Crucible and Formation would be long enough for her to really start noticing the inconsistencies and getting suspicious.

Originally, Lois was going to have to wait until the "Jimmy Olsen story" which takes place about three years into Phase 2. You're actually getting this way early.

* * *

Chapter Six: The Gorilla Test

Today, it was a bright seventy-eight degrees and it was very tempting to just walk to the Metropolis Gold Hotel. But it was a bit too far from the _Daily Planet_ building to make it there in time for the press conference.

The two reporters took the light rail to avoid the traffic.

"I thought Atlas Industries already released a public statement about Ms. Furie's arrest." Clark said. "Didn't they?"

Lois shrugged. "Oh, they did." she said. "But I don't think it's sticking. A lot of people don't like statements like what came out of Atlas Industries. It basically screams 'sanitized by the PR Department with the social equivalent of bleach'. Heck, **I** didn't trust it and I get the feeling Ms. Furie didn't have squat to do with attack **or** the bombing last year."

"I don't think word's gotten out about that one yet." Clark said quietly.

"Privileged information, Smallville. But once word _does_ get out, the city will want someone to blame and she'll be a convenient enough target."

"Fair point."

Meredith Furie was the CEO of Atlas Industries. The company was new to Metropolis by several years, but it had branches in New York, Sacramento and Central City. They specialized in pharmaceuticals, military software, and greener fuel emissions, dabbling in other fields on the side to see what they could turn up. As a company, Atlas Industries had yet to go international, but the company itself was only around fifteen years old and it didn't quite have the footprint to compete with some of the international companies who had been in existence for nearly a century or longer.

"But it's getting there." Lois said, getting to the end of the history lesson she had started on the train ride over. They gotten off just a few blocks away from the hotel. "The last I heard, Atlas Industries was in contract negotiation with a Japanese company that would let them establish some roots overseas."

"Maybe this is an attempt to stop the contract from going through?" Clark suggested. "I think if a potential business partner got in trouble with the law, it would give the other company grounds to pull the contract."

"You're thinking smarter every day, Smallville." Lois praised, causing him to turn a little pink. "It's possible. We'll see if Ms. Furie has to say. Oh, I can't wait to see her in action. She has an attitude like a razor and the single-mindedness of a shark. I think it makes people hate her, but there is a businesswoman whom I have serious respect for."

"She's a role model for you?" Clark wondered.

Lois shook her head. "Not really. But wait. You haven't been in the same room with her yet. She's as cold as ice and twice as biting." the reporter said, practically dancing in glee.

Ms. Furie had been arrested by the police a little over thirty-six hours ago. The department had rebuffed all approaches by the press, saying that they would release an official statement. Now sprung by her lawyers, it seemed Ms. Furie was about to beat the police to the punch.

The problem, it seemed to Lois, was that Ms. Deirdre Merlo was a very publically liked figure, moreso than Ms. Furie could hope to be at the present moment. Ms. Merlo also had big jugs, a pretty smile, and was not at all politically incorrect. Also very, very heterosexual.

There was no ignoring it. Ms. Furie was as gay as the Fourth of July. The dichotomy of her being an influential business woman in charge of a nationally recognized company and one hell of a lesbian seemed too much for the mind of the average business analyst to grasp, to say nothing of certain traditional brackets within the general population. They scratched their heads and pulled their hair, overworking their brains trying to figure out how someone could be so gay and so successful at the same time. In their small worlds, such a thing could not _-_ \- should not exist.

It didn't matter how much natural charisma Ms. Furie had. The criticism on her was noticeable harsher, the comments more biting. The press didn't like her, no matter what. They called her too waspish, too strident. Unfriendly and prone to dropping (justified) lawsuits at a moment's notice. A harpy who screeched and shrieked and sharpened her talons on the annual reports. The woman who never smiled, just glared. The complete opposite of Ms. Merlo, whom the press painted as everyone's favorite maiden aunt.

The Metropolis Gold Hotel was one of the swankier venues in the city. A posh, upper-crust hotel, it was no stranger to press conferences and other large amounts of people descending on their luxurious ballrooms. Security was efficient and practiced. The two _Daily Planet_ reporters got through the hastily-erected turnstiles without a fuss.

About a dozen press outlets swarmed through the lobby, waiting for the main ballroom to open. Lois stood up on her toes and looked around for any familiar faces. She spotted one in particular.

"Smallville, I see our best police friend." she declared. "Let's get a scoop before anyone else has the same idea."

The person she had spotted was Captain Maggie Sawyer, commander of the Special Crimes Unit, which handled quite a lot of the weirder stuff that plagued the city on an infrequent basis. They had a lot more to do these days. No longer were they being made to shadow VICE and track down drug-traffic, but now they basically trailed after Superman and cleaned up whatever he left behind. They had gained quite a few rookies in the past five months, taking a lot of the weight off the veteran members. Indeed, the captain looked a little better rested than the first few times Clark had seen her.

Maggie spotted them as they approached. The wild-eyebrow'd detective Dan Turpin was absent, but he was probably holding down the fort.

"Am I still your favorite reporter, Captain?" Lois called out teasingly.

"You're hardly the worst, Ms. Lane." Maggie replied, taking the reporter's hand in a brief handshake. She wore her nice clothes; a knee-length skirt and a fitted suit jacket, her badge tucked into her belt and her firearm on her hip.

"And Mr. Kent. It's good to see you again." the captain added, shaking his hand as well. "I hope you've managed to keep Ms. Lane out of trouble?"

"Eh, that's a bit difficult when she puts her mind to something." Clark admitted.

Lois grinned toothily. "There's a reason they call me Mad Dog Lane, Smallville. Always chasing that squirrel they call the truth." she said. "So what brings you out this way, Captain?"

"Security detail." Maggie shrugged. "No specifics, but Ms. Furie gave me the impression that she's worried about something more than the charges brought against her. I'm not sure if we're here to protect her or keep her from running, though."

"I was wondering, if it's not an issue," Clark started in the super-polite tone where he totally didn't mean to pry. "If you could tell us what perpetuated the arrest of Ms. Furie? Since the official statement hasn't come out..."

Maggie sighed. "Well, there's no point in with-holding information that's going to come out anyways. Just leave my name out." she warned. "I'm assuming you already heard that Ms. Furie has been implicated in last year's averted bombing."

"That's come across our ears once already. What do you know about it?" Lois wondered.

The captain reached into the satchel hanging at her other side and came out with a file folder that she flipped open, displaying the contents to the reporters. It was a high-resolution photograph and the colors had been altered to make the occupants stand out a little more, six shadowy figures that looked a bit brown rather than black and gray.

"Hey, is this a still from the terrorist video?" Lois asked, tugging the photo closer.

"Yes, it is. My techie Lyle messed with it until we got something to work with. This woman here." Maggie pointed to the person on the far right of the photo. "We got a partial of her face, enough to start running it for matches. Ms. Furie's was the closest." She lifted up the photo. "And this is the reconstruction."

The computer-generated image seemed a little lopsided to Lois, but the resemblance to Meredith Furie was unmistakable.

"Furthermore, records put Ms. Furie as being out of town when the crisis occurred. She went incommunicado. No calls unless it was an absolute emergency." the captain added.

"Suspicious, at best." Lois murmured.

"But not enough. It's all circumstantial." Clark pointed out, glancing at the captain for confirmation of that.

Maggie nodded. "I won't lie. Our boys jumped the gun on this one. That's why Ms. Furie walked this morning. Strictly speaking, we don't have enough evidence linking her to the crime. Face rec doesn't make perfect matches."

"So the reconstruction wouldn't be accurate either." Clark finished.

"Of course not. Face rec is about reducing the suspect pool to the most likely individuals, but it's still flawed in that regard. The technology matches up points on the face. The problem is the person might have the same symmetrical features as the presumed culprit, but anyone with a pair of working eyes could tell that they're not the same person." the captain said.

"Doesn't it match for hair and eye color?" Lois asked.

"Yes, but we couldn't make a match for hair and eye color. We had to go solely on what we could see." Maggie said, gesturing to the enhanced photo. It was a false-color photo; hair and eye color were indeterminable. She straightened her suit jacket absently. "I think we'll be lucky if Ms. Furie doesn't feel inspired to drop a lawsuit. But she mostly does that to the press anyways."

"Well, they bring that on themselves." Lois commented.

And that much was true. Ms. Furie didn't consider her latest fashion styles or her sexual orientation to be more important than her business accomplishments. She had barred half the press outlets in the city from interviewing her when all they wanted to do was talk about her sex life, but were actually supposed to be reporting on what Atlas Industries had done recently.

She had been the CEO for around five years now and she was still fighting an uphill battle for basic respect.

The main ballroom opened a moment later, before they could delve into small talk about the weather or sports or social lives. Captain Sawyer took up her position in the back of the room beside the blue-uniformed officers and the reporters took their seats. They sat at just about the middle of the room. Lois had refused to sit closer to the front upon spotting her nemesis, that lying bitch Lacy Warfield from the _Metropolis Star._ Such a look of vitriol had crossed her face that Clark thought it was best to keep them from doing much more than walking into each other's line of sight.

"Didn't you tell me that Meredith Furie was one of the names that came up when you were going through Trask's history?" he asked, partially to distract her but mostly because this could be important.

"What? Oh, yeah. Her name was in there."

"What about?"

"A fracas in Central City, two-thousand-two. Agent Stoolie Canary _-_ \- what was his actual name, something Trevor? Steve? I'm gonna call him Steve anyways. He mentioned it, but there wasn't much on it." Lois said.

"Why not?" Clark asked.

"Do you watch ' _Night Witch_ '? TV show, set during World War Two, about the female Russian pilots who bombed Axis camps?" Lois prompted, and got a negative response. "How about ' _Gilded Lilies_ , did you see that? Came out a few years ago, chronicled the life of a Jazz Age flapper right up to the stock market crash and then a few months after as she had to give up her luxurious lifestyle?"

Clark shrugged. "If it came out a few years ago, I was probably in Europe then. And I don't watch much TV either."

Lois gave him a tired look. "Well, Vivian Furie stars in both. Her career goes way back. She used to be a child star and made that successful transistion, so she's got plenty of influence. Chances are, she smothered the information. The Mrs. Furie doesn't like nosy reporters any more than her daughter does." she explained.

"Oh. What was there to find out?"

"An attack was made on the Furie's home back in two thousand-two. It killed Gregor Furie and injured a few guests. Ms. Furie was having her graduation open house." Lois replied. "Trask turned up by the next morning and the police reports indicated that he verbally and physically assaulted a few of her friends. The names were left out, though. And this wasn't too long after Smallville, right?"

"That was in nineteen ninety-nine. I was a sophomore." Clark corrected. He had been out of school in 2001. "It was the incident in the Florida Keys that happened right before the meteor shower."

"Right, fish people." Lois thought for a moment, tapping her fingers on her leg. "Well, Trask was as pure as compressed shit, but he had a habit of tracking meta-humans. If this is tangentially related, then I think we need a better read on what happened in Central back then."

"So we start digging into Ms. Furie's personal life?"

"She won't like it, but if she won't talk to the press, we'll have to find someone who will." Lois tapped her fingers on her leg some more, the thoughtful look persisting. Then she said: "Trask has left you alone too. I know he was court-martialed and dumped on a roadside somewhere, but it's funny how he hasn't resurfaced since Superman became a new national icon."

A nervous sweat formed instantly under Clark's collar.

 _Is she implying what I think she's implying?_ He wondered. _Does she know-_ - _or at least suspect that I'm Superman? Do I tell her?_

He vetoed the idea immediately on the grounds that it would be foolish to jump the gun like that. On the outside, it was a casual comment. Trask hadn't been around since Superman had turned up on the scene to a great applause, but that could have been because he'd been tossed out of a car in the New Mexico desert and getting back to Metropolis was a bit of a hike. He also had no authority anymore to try and make an arrest. Even at this early stage, coming after Superman like a man full of revenge would just get him arrested again.

It was just a casual comment regarding two related facts, when viewed from a certain angle.

Deeper down, however, it was Lois saying that she had spotted the connection.

On another hand, this was the first time she had made such a comment, implying that she had only gotten the suspicion recently. Maybe Clark was being too obvious with his movements as Superman and it was setting off her bullshit detector.

 _I should tone it down a notch._

The conference started right on time. Meredith Furie walked into the small ballroom through a side-door to the furious clicking of camera shutters, the brilliant flashes putting her features in sharp relief. On the surface, it didn't look like the caustic rumors were effecting her any. It didn't even look like she had spent the past thirty-six hours as one of the Stryker's Ladies. Her chestnut-colored hair was styled, her make-up impeccable, her clothes dry-cleaned and pressed. Her wardrobe was its usual: a sleek fitted suit jacket that flattered the lines of her torso, the crisp white blouse underneath, and the long pencil skirt that pulled taut around her thighs and hips. Her three-inch heeled shoes were polished and they tapped lightly on the laminate floor.

Only Clark could hear the rabbit-quick beat of her heart, the anxious gurgle of liquid in her stomach, and the grind of her teeth. He could see beads of sweat gathering just at her hair-line and he was certainly much more capable of discerning the tightness in her jaw.

She was nervous, but she was putting up a confident front. That was thing that mattered. She was presenting herself as physically and mentally unruffled. She couldn't show any signs of nervousness, or else it would be all over for her.

Ms. Furie followed in by an entourage of older men in their fifties and sixties, with just one younger man. Atlas Industries's board of directors, no doubt. Unlike their CEO, some of them weren't looking so composed. A few were visibly sweating. One had a lopsided tie. Another seemed to be shaking, but he was so rotund the shaking could have easily originated from the act of walking, rather than nerves.

Lois made a face. "That's her board of directors?" she whispered to Clark. "No wonder everyone thinks she's a clawing harpy, if that's what she has to put up with daily. Fat ugly men. There must be so much misogyny in the boardroom just because she broke the glass ceiling, never mind the part where she's gay as hell. She can't afford for a second to let her guard down around them. I bet they're just _looking_ for any excuse to get her out of the office."

She made another face, this one thoughtful.

"What are the odds this whole thing is a ploy by the board of directors?" she wondered.

"Our job is just to report the news." Clark replied.

"No, our job is to go out looking for the news before it happens. We're investigative reporters, not newsreaders." Lois corrected. She looked at the men following Ms. Furie onto the stage with a predatory gleam. "I'll bet you that any one of those ham-chops are up to their eyeballs in white-collar crime. Whaddya say, Smallville? Ten dollars?"

"No, I don't bet." Clark said.

"Fifteen? I'll throw in a coffee; that European blend you like."

"Lois, I'm not betting against you when the odds are that you'll win."

"Ooh, you're learning. I'm really starting to be proud of you, Smallville." Lois said, grinning. "Wherever there's a business man, there's good odds that white-collar crime isn't far away. No matter how honest everyone else is, there's always going to be that one person who thinks they can play the system."

She patted his arm and turned forward towards the front of the room as Ms. Furie took her place in front of the podium. The rest of the fat, old man oozed in behind her.

"Thank you for coming." Ms. Furie said into the microphone. "I'm holding this press conference for the sole purpose of informing everyone that neither I, nor Atlas Industries, had any involvement in the terrorist-organized missile strike against Future World Industries _-_ -"

Down in front, someone started to make rude interrupting noises.

"And I would like to set the record straight on the several of the newest charges that were filed against me, so if you would please hold your questions..."

The rude interrupting noises continued; a man making clicking sounds with his tongue and wiggling his fingers. Lois recognized the man as Avery Cothern, from the tabloid magazine _Dirt Digger_ , which had the same amount of journalistic integrity as a cow had opposable thumbs.

The CEO gritted her teeth and looked down at the rude man.

"My question is important. I'm sure everyone wants to know why you aren't waiting for the court date to try and proclaim your innocence." Mr. Cothern went ahead anyways. "Why are you holding a press conference now? Are you worried that a jury will see right through your lies?"

"Questions are not being taken at this time." Ms. Furie said stiffly.

"So you're guilty of conspiring to commit an act of terrorism?" Mr. Cothern demanded. "Both against Future World Industries and the city of Metropolis? Do you admit that you have any involvement in the bombing attack last year?"

There was no collective horrified gasp from the entire audience; just a few people. Rather, it was a collective muttering. It wasn't news to the reporters. Perry White was hardly the only editor-in-chief in the entire city who had a few pals in the police department.

"What are you talking about?" Ms. Furie asked through gritted teeth.

"Ahem." Mr. Cothern stood amid and made a show of opening his notes. "According to reliable sources, you have been implicated in the terrorist attack that took place last November, in addition to the theft of the drones from LexCorp, the missiles of which struck the Future World building. There is a photo still from last year's terrorist video and another photo still from LexCorp security footage that clearly display _your face_. What do you say in response to these accusations?"

Ms. Furie arched an eyebrow sharply. "An accusation that is going to fall flat in the next ten seconds." she said. "Yes, I suppose it's my face in both photos, but among the reasons I arranged this press conference, one of them is to make public the fact I'm an identical twin."

That didn't silence just Mr. Cothern, but everyone in the ballroom to boot. Lois's pen hit the notebook so hard Clark swore he heard the paper tear. He glanced down at what she was writing: _'Twin sister. Probably innocent. Suck it bitches.'_

"This is not a fact I routinely advertise. My sister Hannah and I have been estranged these past five years. We've had no contact whatsoever since high school and we barely got along peacefully while we still lived under the same roof." Ms. Furie said coldly, deploying a stare at the reporter so piercing that Clark briefly wondered if she too could shoot fire from her eyes. "So perhaps it is my face in the photos, but I was certainly not the one standing there. There is one other person in this world who shares my exact features."

"But you were out of town last year _-_ -" Mr. Cothern started.

"Yes, I was. I was visiting my mother. An old friend was having her birthday that weekend as well. I don't see enough of my old friends as it is and I don't like getting work calls while I'm trying to unwind and celebrate a birthday." the CEO explained.

That deterred Mr. Cothern, but only for a second. "Miss Furie, can your friends corroborate this?"

Before the CEO could give an answer, from the back of the room there came a "You fuckin' bet!" in a man's voice that sounded quite fed up with the proceedings. What was interesting to watch was Ms. Furie's face. The icy demeanor she had been holding melted away as her eyes ran over the crowd. Then it was surprise that she was wearing, followed by an amused smile. It made her look ten times more approachable than before. Like she was less an ice statue CEO and more a warm, breathing human being.

"Yes. All you have to do is politely ask." she asserted. Her smile regained its shark-like edge. "Now for the last time, I am not taking any questions at the moment and you will all hold your tongues until I have said my piece."

A nervous ripple spread over the ballroom and that seemed to kill the urge the to interrupt her with questions about her friends and various relations. Lois raised a hand like she was rubbing her nose, but it was to hide her smirk. She liked Ms. Furie for superficial reasons. The power to control a room with a single look and a hard word was a power granted to few. It was a power to admire.

An entirely different ripple went up Clark's spine; the same kind of ripple he used to get right before Whitney Fordman tried to punch him in the back of the head (tried to, because if Clark didn't dodge, Whitney would have most certainly broken his own hand). It was that warning of possible danger, that there was definitely something that needed watching.

He looked around the ballroom as subtly as he could manage, trying to find whatever had tipped him off. He found it quickly and it was so obvious that he wondered why he hadn't spotted it earlier.

It was a young woman, no more than twenty-three years old, standing on the opposite side of the door from which Ms. Furie had entered. She was dressed in a mini-skirt and a corset top with a bolero jacket and knee-high boots, lending her the unfortunate appearance of possibly being someone's hired escort for the night. Her hair was black, but it was the dull matte black of a dye-job and there was entirely too much dark make-up caked on around her eyes. Her eyes, which were the same warm honey-brown as her twin sister's up on the stage.

Hannah's eyes were riveted on her sister, oblivious to anything else. Clark wondered if this was the first time that Hannah had seen her twin since they had parted ways almost five years ago.

"Ms. Lane?" He nudged her gently.

"Smallville, I've told you. You have permission to use my first name." Lois reminded him. They had been work partners for nine months, friends for just as long. They had spent more than enough time together to warrant a first-name basis.

Though she did have to remind him from time to time. God bless his parents for raising such a polite, well-mannered young gentleman.

"Never mind that. Look over there by the wall. Just don't be obvious about it." Clark instructed softly, keeping his hand below the line of chairs when he gestured to the corner.

"What am I looking for?"

"Hannah Furie."

"Oh, you're kidding. She's _here_?" Lois whispered, sliding her eyes over to the door. "Oh, she **is** here." Her eyes narrowed and then she looked back at Clark. "There's cops here too, right? Other than the captain?"

"Um, a few." Clark had counted six police officers on the way in. This wasn't exactly a high-security event. "Do you think she'll try something?"

"You're from Kansas. You tell me." Lois shrugged.

"Er... Lois. People from Kansas are not aliens, creatures from another dimension, mole people, and not all of us are farmers. We're all just regular people." Clark informed her for what felt the hundredth time since they had met.

 _Well, I am an alien, but we're not talking about that._ He amended in his head.

"Kent, despite the assurance that it is just twenty miles southwest of Edge City, I have yet to actually find Smallville on a map." Lois pointed out. "Don't tell me that's not weird."

"It's not." Clark told her. "It's called inattentional blindness. Sometimes you could be staring right at something and just not see it."

"I know what it's called, but I literally cannot find Smallville on a map. Right now, I have no proof it even exists."

"Have you tried the internet?"

Just then, the world slowed down.

Well, it didn't. But Clark's perceptions suddenly sped up so quickly it felt like the world was slowing down. As it always did whenever he was moving at Mach Three. Sometimes, it kicked in all on its own, like instinct.

Beside him, Lois was rolling her eyes and starting to speak, but her jaw seemed to take an eternity to descend half a centimeter and her eyes appeared to barely move at all. He saw the bulb of a camera flash just starting to gleam. He heard the grind of metal on metal from somewhere behind him.

Clark hated moving so fast that the world looked like a freeze-frame, because he always perceived himself as moving normally. He turned around in his chair, peering at the back of the ballroom. There had been more people than chairs, so about another dozen reporters from the small-time publications that only circulated neighborhoods rather than the entire city and then some had gathered in the back. By the table with its collection of plastic cups and silver pitchers of water, Clark spotted the problem.

The problem was a heavy-set man with the most disproportionate shoulders ever, so bulging and herniated that Clark sincerely hope that his poor mother had not been subjected to a vaginal delivery. That was a steroidal broadness that dwarfed even him. It was amazing his body didn't snap right at the waist, which was quite slim in comparison.

His breath caught.

It was the same top-heavy man whom had kicked him around in several Labrr department stores last year. The same man who had been trying to impersonate him. The man Clark had lost sight of over Lake Superior. Mr. Herniated Shoulders.

The more exact problem was that he was holding a gun and he had already pulled the trigger. The bullet was just leaving the barrel. The snapping, thunder-like sound hadn't even occurred yet.

 _I'm not sure who he's aiming at, but that won't do._

Clark stood up and crab-stepped out of the aisle. He went to the back of the room and plucked the bullet out of the air, merely centimeters from the barrel. Then he sat back down and, like being drenched by a wave, time returned to normal.

The thunderous ***BANG!*** went off practically the same instant his rear touched the seat. Half the congregation threw themselves to the floor and the other half screamed. The police who had been standing by in case anyone got it into their heads to try anything funny leapt at Mr. Herniated-Shoulders.

But there was only seven of them in total, including Captain Sawyer and this man's first action was to drop the gun and heave the water table into the center of the ballroom. Clark didn't know how much that table weighed, but surely it took a few people to move it.

"Look out!" Lois shouted in warning.

She herself didn't have the chance to move before she felt a broad hand impact between her shoulders and the push sent her all but flying out from the table's path, so fast the edges of the room blurred. She hit the floor, bruising elbows and knees on the way down but clear of the table when it crashed through the seats, breaking every chair in its way.

 _It's him!_ Lois realized. She could hardly forget the size of those shoulders.

Laughing triumphantly, Mr. Herniated-Shoulders spread his arms like he was presenting himself.

"Come on then, weaklings!" he bellowed, his baritone voice echoing loudly in the small room. He grinned nastily at the police who had drawn their guns, leered at the women, and sneered at the men. "Who wants to try and take me?! Who wants to try and stop me?! I'm stronger than fifty men!"

The officers shared uncertain looks, silently asking each other if they wanted to risk it and Captain Sawyer made a gesture for them to hold their ground. Lois couldn't blame them for being apprehensive. This guy had taken on Superman several times before and each fight had nearly ended in a draw.

"Well, I suppose you are," began a voice that Lois was happily familiar with and she grinned. "But then it's a good thing I seem to be stronger than a thousand men."

Superman had arrived.

He walked into the ballroom, crimson cape rippling out behind him and drawing the eyes of everyone to him. He looked just the same as he always did. The black hair swooped back with a funny little spit-curl over his forehead. Piercing blue eyes that looked like they needed to be glowing. His suit was royal blue, with red highlights up the inside of his thighs and then up his chest to the armpits, and made of a material that wasn't found on this planet. He was well-muscled, gorgeous, standing tall and straight and proud...

Lois glanced to her left, where Clark oughta have been. Where he _wasn't_.

Superman was here and Clark wasn't.

 _Well, well, well..._

Mr. Herniated-Shoulders turned in the blink of an eye and became a blurry streak that crashed into Superman's chest. There was a follow-up ***THUD!*** that shook the floor underneath them and the walls around them. Lois scrambled to her feet, grabbing the broken-off table leg on her way out the door. When she got into the hallway, Superman was pulling himself out of a man-shaped dent in the wall and lunging at Mr. Herniated-Shoulders.

His form was far and away more superior than the first time Lois had seen him tackle someone. His stance was solid, his footwork much more on point. He no longer looked like he was flailing nearly as much. His movements were controlled, tight. He moved like a boxer, staying on his toes and always in motion. He still had a ways to go in the learning process, but sheer repetition would get him there.

But there was one other thing that Lois couldn't ignore.

Superman's form, the combos he threw, his style overall... They were virtually identical to Clark's.

And Lois knew that because she had taught him. Several months after the averted crisis, Clark had come up to her with a story of being nearly mugged and asked about learning self-defense from her, when she had the time to spare. She had taken him to a gym where one of the trainers had drilled him in the basics, but she had helped him to polish his style.

The fight between Mr. Herniated-Shoulders and Superman didn't last very long at all. It ended about five seconds after Superman bum-rushed the man. He was stronger and faster and much more skilled this time around. Lois had enough time to see the improvement before Superman dropped Mr. Herniated-Shoulders like a sack of potatoes, withdrawing his fist from the air and leaving the man moaning on the floor in a semi-conscious state.

"Here." Lois handed Superman the broken-off leg of a chair. "He's too strong for regular handcuffs, it looks like."

Superman gave her a look like _'oh you'_ \- the fond, adorable variety that sent a tingle all the way down to her toes and didn't make her feel like she was being patronized _-_ \- and then bent the table leg like it was a fuzzy pipe cleaner. He easily wrapped it around Mr. Herniated-Shoulders's wrists, cuffing his arms together in a pair of make-shift manacles that he probably wouldn't be breaking apart any time soon.

Superman looked up at her again, this time with an accomplished smile that just _-_ \- Lois couldn't describe it. It was just one of the most gorgeous smiles she had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The toothpaste ad smile, but so broad and sincere. For a second, she felt like the only person in the world, alone with the Superman.

Then the applause started, punctuated by the click of camera shutters and Lois jumped a little, remembering that this wasn't exactly a private moment. They had gathered something of a crowd. All the reporters were crowded in the doorway with their notepads, scribbling rapidly. Hotel staff and other visitors, drawn the sound of the ruckus, were hovering at the other end of the hall with their smartphones wavering the air. Several of the staff members just looked pained, probably at the thought of having to clean up the mess.

The police officers squeezed their way through the door, pushing aside reporters. Superman stood up and backed off from the downed man, a fluid movement that drew Lois's attention to his lower body _-_ \- she couldn't help it. She really liked those miles and miles of rock-hard muscles and they were all just _right there_.

It took three of the officers and two of the reporters to haul Mr. Herniated-Shoulders off the floor and started to Mirandize him on the spot while the news cameras hovered around the scene like mechanical vultures. This wasn't a live feed, but it would be all over the news by noon.

"Good work." Captain Sawyer turned to the hero and extended a hand. "Thank you for the assist."

"It was no problem, ma'm." Superman said with that brilliant smile and a humble tone. "It sounded like you needed some help and I was already in the area. But I'm sure you could have done it without me."

"No," Maggie shook her head. "It was good thing you showed up when you did. Not sure we could have subdued him, look at those shoulders. We could have, but we'd had to have waited for back-up to move and I imagine people would have gotten hurt in the meantime. So, thank you."

Superman took her hand with the utmost gentleness and the cameras went nuts.

"You're welcome, Captain Sawyer." he said.

"Hey!"

Meredith Furie came storming forward, pointing a trembling finger at Mr. Herniated-Shoulders, who had been forced on to a bench while the officers called for back-up and transport.

"I know you!" Ms. Furie shouted.

Mr. Herniated-Shoulders looked at her. His eyes were clear of any sign of concussion and judging from the way they widened, he recognized her too.

"You're Lance! Lance Blitzbeine!" the CEO spat in sheer disgust. "You're that fucking creeper who hung around my sister and perved on my underwear drawer and I _know_ you stole some of my jewelry _-_ -"

She advanced on the man with a fist-swinging aggression and he actually recoiled in fear, but a pair of arms looped around her shoulders, halting her forward charge. They belonged to a blonde-haired man who wasn't much taller than the CEO.

"Whoa! Meredith! He could break you in half!" he warned, dragging the furious woman back and away, causing Lois to look twice because that sounded like the same fed-up man from earlier.

"I'll take him down with me!" Ms. Furie yelled, still struggling against the man's hold, regardless of the fact he clearly had the upper hand here. "And don't say shit like that, you massive hypocrite! I know you've taken swings at people!"

"Oh my god, that was one time." The blonde-haired man rolled his eyes in an aggrieved way like he'd been hoping that incident(s) would have been forgotten by now.

Ms. Furie made a growling sound. She jabbed a warning finger at Lance 'Herniated-Shoulders' Blitzbeine. Only then did she relent to being herded away.

"I assume you can take it from here?" Superman asked, looking at Captain Sawyer.

She smiled. "We've got this." she assured him. "I won't complain if you want to stick around for another few minutes, but we've got this."

As soon as the police officer stepped away to do her duty, that was when the press surged up around the alien man, lobbing questions like stones. Lois turned over her shoulder to see Superman scrunching up, raising his hands like he was going to swat at all of them and looking slightly scared for his life. Lois thought briefly about rescuing him from her like-minded fellows, but nah. Big strong man like that? He could take care of himself.

"Ms. Furie," the reporter started, turning to the CEO still nearby. The blonde-haired man had let go in the mean time, but he was making it a point to stand between the woman and the large-shouldered man. Lois wasn't sure who would be getting stopped if either decided to lunge at each other, or if the younger man would just get squished between two angry people.

"We spotted your sister just before the gun went off." Lois said to her.

Ms. Furie blinked. "My sister Hannah?"

"You've only got the one." the blonde-haired man pointed out.

"And she's your identical twin, isn't she?" Lois smiled wryly. Other than the hair and the make-up and the clothes, Hannah had been identical. Impossible to mistake.

"She was here?" Ms. Furie asked, less surprised by the news and more unhappy about it. "You saw her? Do you know where she went?"

"No, sorry. I lost track of her when someone started firing bullets and throwing tables." Lois admitted. "Clark- My partner Clark might have seen where she went, but I don't see him around..."

Frowning, the dark-haired reporter looked around the hallway for any sign of her tall, hunch-shouldered compatriot. Superman wasn't present either, having escaped the reporters just a moment ago.

 _Just wait. Superman's gone, so Clark's going to come back any second..._

"But she _was_ here. My sister." Ms. Furie said, searching for confirmation.

Lois nodded.

The business woman scowled heavily.

Lois could guess what that was about. Lance 'Herniated-Shoulders' Blitzbeine used to hang around Ms. Furie's estranged sister and they had both been spotted in the same room at the same time. One didn't have to look too far to see that couldn't exactly be coincidence.

Just then, Clark jogged up beside them, out of breath and looked strangely lopsided, from his glasses down to the laces of his shoes, a bit like he had undressed and re-dressed very hurriedly.

"Where'd you get off to?" Lois asked, sweeping her gaze up and down, searching for any sign of telltale blue or red. _Anything_ that would let her corner him in telling the truth.

Superman was gone and Clark Kent was back.

This was also not a coincidence.

"I was trying to follow Hannah." Clark said, smoothing down his tie. "I followed her all the way out of the hotel, but I tripped at the end of the block and lost sight of her."

Lois canted an eyebrow. "You tripped? Fleet-footed you are, Smallville." she said.

"Is my sister still dying her hair black and dressing like a street-corner hooker?" Ms. Furie asked.

"Well..." Clark nudged his glasses straight. "I wouldn't describe her clothes quite like that..."

"Then she is." Ms. Furie nodded, crossing her arms. "But I want to know what she was doing here, since she couldn't be interested in reconnecting..." She looked sideways to her friend, the blonde-haired man, for his opinion on the matter. But it seemed he was just as baffled, shrugging and going 'pfft'.

"Ms. Furie?" A black-suited member of the CEO's own security detail approached. "We've brought the car around. For your own safety, I suggest we head back to the pent-house."

The CEO let go of a sigh and looked at the two reporters. "Thank your for the heads-up. I'm sure the police will be on the look-out for my twin now."

"It was no problem." Clark said pleasantly and Lois did a double-take.

 _I think that was the same inflection!_

She grabbed Clark reflexively by the elbow and turned him away, half of her intention to argue the truth out of him because this was just getting ridiculous. But her brain worked faster than her tongue and instead she gestured to the blonde-haired man saying goodbye to Ms. Furie and said:

"Let's talk to him about Hannah Furie."

"Are you sure? He could just be..." Clark started, but the hug that ensued between the CEO and the man killed any chance of an argument.

"They're friends. It's a good place to start." Lois asserted.

She turned back around and snagged the strap of the blonde-haired man's bag before he had the chance to really turn and leave. He jolted, his step stuttering, and he looked down to see what had caught him.

"Hi there. Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_." The reporter gave her Grinchy smile. "Let's be friends."

He looked understandably concerned by this. "What for?" he asked, eyes flitting between Lois and Clark in suspicion.

Clark decided to cut in. "What she means to ask is, would you be willing to answer some questions regarding Ms. Furie's background with her sister?" he translated. He stuck out a hand and hoped Lois would stop smiling like that.

The blonde-haired man definitely looked wary of Lois and all the teeth she was showing, but the other half of his expression suggested he had decided Clark was cut from a saner cloth. It didn't stop him from giving Clark a side-eye as he raised his hand like he was going to return the handshake.

"Maybe. With the right persuasion." he replied, still leaving Clark hanging on that handshake.

"We'll persuade you right." Lois managed to make that sound like a threat.

"We'll buy you coffee." Clark corrected, nudging her aside. "I'm Clark Kent. What's your name?"

"Ah, Barry. I'm Barry Allen." the blonde-haired man said, finally returning the handshake. He eyed Lois hard. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but with that smile, I'd swear you're planning to eat me."

Lois just grinned a little wider.

* * *

-0-

Barry Allen y'all! Don't get too excited though, this is only a guest appearance. Barry will get his own origin story with Lightning Storm, but there was a good opportunity to introduce him here and I took it.

On a slightly more serious note, hey guys who complain when I don't update and altenately beg me to update? don't do that. I appreciate the love and enthusiasm and support, i really do, but there are better ways to express it than by whining at me for an update (like a review that is more than just wondering about the next update - srsly, tell me what you liked best about the chapter, leave behind an incoherent keysmash, or just a plain and simple "kudos"). asking about updates doesn't work. it has the opposite effect. it actually makes me want to update _less_. keep it up and i may just delay an update _out of spite_. don't be the person who pokes my spite. don't ruin it for everyone else.

besides, i'm changing up the schedule once i get the revisions done.


	7. Dirty Little Secrets

I have completed all revisions on this story and touched up the final chapter and holy shit if I didn't completely change the tone of the ending. It went from kind of upbeat to kind of... _not_ upbeat. I think it works out better given the shape of things to come.

A quick note on Barry's characterization. I wanted to get away from the Awkward Uber Nerd Who Doesn't Know How to People because I find it kind of insulting to the character. I know "Nerd" _has been_ synonmous with "No Social Skills" for a long time, but it's the 21st century. The nerd character is no longer the quintessential social outcast. You can been a huge nerd with great people skills. Fic writers, by and large, don't seem to grok that.

Instead, I present Barry Allen the Socially Competent Introvert with some shades of Bitter Millennial.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Dirty Little Secrets

Barry Allen wasn't very tall or even very big. He was a full five inches shorter than Clark, but skinny and lanky with the physique of a runner or a cyclist. He had pale gold-blonde hair that needed a trim. It curled at the tips and straggled down over his ears and forehead in a windblown manner and several times already Clark had seen him reach up to reflexively brush away a stray lock of hair. His eyes were a shade of pale green that brought to mind the new spring leaf-buds. His skin had that pasty pale tone that implied he didn't get outside nearly as often as he should have. He probably worked indoors, away from the windows.

There was dog hair on his clothes, mostly around the cuffs of his over-shirt and the thighs of his jeans. Clark could smell the scent of dog over the laundry detergent, so familiar he was with it from Krypto. He wasn't sure of the breed, but the color and length of the hairs suggested a Golden Retriever or a similar breed, and an affectionate one at that. The canine must have crawled all over its human before he'd been able to get out the door.

Barry was visibly nervous too, in a skittish kind of way, but Clark couldn't blame him. Lois had that effect on people. Reporters were expected to be a little tough and unforgiving when it came to stories, as it was how they made their living. But Lois was more confrontational than the rest of her ilk and she didn't like being fobbed off with lies, blatant or otherwise. She pushed and poked and prodded as hard as she could until all the words came gushing out of the target.

And Barry Allen didn't look like a guy who liked dealing with confrontational people. Oh, he definitely could and he did, but he preferred not to. It was just easier to get through the day when he didn't have to argue with people. He coasted by on the power of 'meh'.

There was something odd about him too that Clark couldn't put a finger on. It was something in his eyes or even his hair, like both bore the mark of having been touched by something that was greater than both of them.

They had come to the Bean Counter, Lois's favorite coffee shop on Hell's Gate Island. It was Clark's favorite too. It was the only place in Metropolis where he could find a perfect European blend that he had very grown fond of in his two years abroad traveling the world, but barely existed back here in the States. There was a fine ambience to the shop that soothed frazzled nerves and smoothed over ruffled feathers. The scent of coffee drifted through the air, rich and dark. They made fresh bread and various baked goods to go with the coffee. Lois had extolled their pumpkin bread to great lengths. Clark hadn't really had the chance to savor it last October, so he was looking forward to trying it again this year. Their seasonal Valentine's Day bread _-_ \- red velvet vaguely flavored like cherry _-_ \- and the peppermint spice treats at Christmas had been irresistible

Lois had sent them to a table so she could place the drink orders. The two men had sat in a tense silence since.

Underneath the table, Barry's leg bounced with a restless energy that occasionally kicked his knee into the underside of the table. Fingers pulled absently at the edge of the bandages around his right hand with the kind of fervor that suggested he wanted to yank them right off, but knew better than to. He looked everywhere except at Clark and soon settled his gaze out the window to watch Metropolis go by.

"First time in the city?" Clark asked conversationally, hoping to set the other man at ease before Lois came back like a wind-storm and flattened everything to the ground. She was still working on the soft touch.

Barry's head swiveled around. "What?"

"You've got the look of someone who's never been in a big city before. Or at least not Metropolis." Clark explained, smiling pleasantly. "I know. I've worn that look myself. You're from Central, aren't you? I've been there. Spent a few days exploring. It's not much like Metropolis."

It was widely agreed that residents the Midwest and the Great Plains states didn't have distinct regional accents, but when you lived in one place for long enough, it was easier to pick out the more muted and subtle variations. Barry Allen spoke with a slight southern drawl that reminded Clark of life in Smallville.

"Central really isn't as compact." Barry replied.

Central was a typical Midwestern city: an urban core surrounded by a great swathe of suburbia. The downtown area was big in the sense of footprint, as it was spread out more than a small-ish island like New Troy. Metropolis packed its skyscrapers together whereas Central parceled out its towers like it only had so many to go around.

The side-eye returned with Barry tilting his head back at a slight angle, giving Clark the vague impression of a concerned lizard. But it was a more discerning stare than a suspicious one.

"Southwest Kansas, I think. You sound like you're from Edge City." the blonde-haired man observed.

Clark nodded. "Smallville. It's further to the southwest. If you reach Oklahoma, you've gone too far. So, Mr. Allen _-_ -"

"Call me 'Barry'." the blonde-haired man requested, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Sorry, but any time someone tacks on 'Mister', I end up looking for my dad which is weird because he was a doctor and no one called him 'Mister'."

Clark blinked. " _Was_ a doctor?" There had been a lot of past tense usage in that sentence.

Barry seemed to sober a little. "He died thirteen years ago. He and Mom both. Robbery went wrong." he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. That must have been rough." Clark said sympathetically. "You can call me 'Clark', if we're going to be on a first-name basis here. I'm just curious. What do you do for a living?"

"Forensic scientist with the CCPD." Barry answered, pulling his shoulders back and smiling in a proud way and Clark realized that the other man wasn't much older than him. Thirteen years ago would have made him very young indeed. "I just started training for field analysis. It'd be a lot more interesting if one of my coworkers wasn't breathing down my neck at every second of the day." He added, scowling sourly.

"Is that coworker the one training you?" Clark wondered. "Because if he is, then he's got a reason to be breathing down your neck. His job security might depend on your success."

Barry shook his head. "Well, that'd make sense if Thawne _was_ the one training me, but he's not, Harris is." he drawled. "But Thawne's all up in my business anyways like his job depends on it. This guy is ten years older than me, a professional, and actually really good at his job, but he has the coping mechanisms of a spoiled three year old. It's like my success offends him. Like I peed on his sofa, the way he acts around me. And I'm gonna stop before I vent my spleen on you."

Almost reflexively, as it give himself something to do instead of complain about work-place woes to a complete stranger, Barry snatched one of the straw-stirrers out of the cup and started to bend it.

"It's alright." Clark assured him, not quite able to keep the smile off his face. He was starting to get a feel for the sort of person Barry Allen was. Intelligent, quick with his brain, full of promise and potential, probably an up-and-comer in his field. It took serious dedication to succeed in the field of forensic analysis, but to be hired to a police lab directly out of college was a feat all by itself. One usually had to bum around as an intern or an assistant for a year or so before taking that step up.

"Is the lab where that happened?" Clark wondered, gesturing to the brace on the other man's hand. The bandages wrapped a little ways around his wrist to keep them secure.

"Huh, this?" Barry stopped fussing with the edges and raised his hand. "Yeah, this is what happens when some moron _-_ \- _Thawne!_ " He coughed falsely. "Decides to trip and fall almost right across your workstation and I didn't have my gloves on at the time."

Clark winced sympathetically. Thus far, electricity had proven to be his only real weakness. His body operated on electrical impulses just the same as a human's did and too much electricity could disrupt his heart rhythm. He still had no idea if something like that could actually _kill_ him, though.

"Chemical burn? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Feels a little crispy, but it was easier to get the time off to come up here."

"I'm sure your friend appreciates you being here."

Lois bustled back over to the table with a cardboard carrier of drink orders and a pile of baked goods.

"Okay, mocha for me, fancy European for Smallville, and hot chocolate for this strange person over here." She threw an annoyed look at their guest like he was insulting the great gods of coffee by ordering hot chocolate.

"I don't drink coffee." Barry informed her with a cheeky, cheery smile. "Love the smell, hate the taste. Should have considered that before you abducted me out here."

He took the cardboard cup and saluted her with it. Lois tried to scowl and smile at the same time, the latter quite unbidden, and ended up looking she had just swallowed a glob of horseradish. That was the expression she made when she wanted to be slightly impressed, but didn't want to show it. She sat down and pushed the pile of assorted baked goods into the center of the table.

"Alright, Mr. Allen _-_ -" she began, opening her notebook.

"Whoa, whoa. Before you even start, I want to lay something out." Barry interrupted.

Lois canted an eyebrow, her expression curious. "Go ahead."

"This can't get creepy. Creepy like invasive and weird and _probing_." Barry said firmly. "If you start asking really creepy questions about Meredith _-_ \- Ms. Furie to you _-_ \- that are not vaguely relevant to the thing you want to talk to me about, I'm out the door. Got it? She's one of my friends and I keep the serious shit I know about my friends to myself. You'd have to pry the information from my cold dead hands and _even then_."

"We're not here for any sordid details _-_ -" Clark started reassuringly.

"There is literally no way I can be reassured on that." Barry pointed out with that concernd lizard side-eye. "Meredith has gone all her life limiting her enounters with the press as much as she could. Her first car was practically a tank because she thought she might run over the papparrazi who sometimes camped outside the school hoping for a photo-op. And she wasn't even _doing_ anything back then. Just the daughter of a CEO and an actress trying to get through high school. I have bony elbows." He held up his elbows in demonstration. "And I made _great_ use of them sometimes."

"Noted." Lois said with an expression that was a weird mix between a scowl and a smirk. "But we're from the _Daily Planet_."

"It means nothing if I don't read the _Daily Planet_." Barry told them, shrugging. "I live in Central City. The _Daily Planet_ is usually not relevant to what's going down in my backyard."

Lois scowled more fully this time.

"He's got a fair point, Lois." Clark pointed out to her, and got a hand waved at him for his trouble.

"For your information, the _Daily Planet_ is not a tabloid rag or a tell-all dirt-sucker like the _Metropolis Star._ " Lois snapped defensively. "We are a legitimate newspaper that cites sources, verifies information, and doesn't heave crap all over the people we talk about. It's the news, straight up and raw. No frills, no plug-ins, no add-ons, and no bullshit. You got me?"

Barry's expression remained largely passive. He didn't even try hiding a frown behind the cup as he took a sip. His expression reflected his thoughts with such clarity that Clark didn't even have to guess at what they were. Barry didn't trust them for the sole reason that they were reporters and he seen enough of the worst over the years to build up a healthy distrust. Meredith Furie had grown up in a spotlight whether she liked it or not. After a while, even that would grow tiresome and her friends, most likely, had started jumping to her defense, swinging pointy elbows and any other assorted body parts.

' _Convince me, motherfuckers'_ was the other thing that frown seemed to be saying.

 _All right then._ Clark thought.

Lois saw it all too and opened her mouth to unleash whatever was on her mind, but Clark reached over and grabbed her hand. The unexpected contact made her look down and start frowning, but she didn't start jumping down throats.

"Mr. Allen _-_ \- Barry, we're not here to slam Ms. Furie in any way. We're not looking for any dirty little secrets or creepy tabloid stories or anything that would harm Ms. Furie's integrity. That's not what we do." Clark told the forensic scientist calmly. They were dealing with someone who had a good reason not to totally trust the press, so a calm approach was needed. "We believe there's a very good chance that she's innocent of the crimes she's been accused of. But we don't have the facts. That's why I'm hoping that you can help us help your friend. You didn't come all this way up from Central City just to stand by supportively. It's admirable, but I think you want to do more than that."

To one side, Lois wasn't sure who to watch intently. It was truly magic to watch Clark polish up the charm and go for the down-on-the-farm, small-town-boy act that appealed to some sort of inner goodness. It had the city slickers falling all over themselves and treating him like the naive newcomer who really didn't mean any harm and just needed a helping hand. His voice was warm, his expression earnest and... Wasn't that the same tactic that _Superman_ had used trying to convince people to come out and help plant trees for Arbor Day?

While it was worth it to keep an eye on Clark for any more slip-ups on his own dirty little secret, Lois also couldn't help but watch Barry too. He was a city boy, but Central City was known for its practicality while Metropolis had laced the water supply with liquid optimism. So it didn't surprise her that Barry Allen was visibly less receptive to the farm boy charm, even if the two of them were from the same geographic region. The side-eye was starting to look like his default expression, so intently was he searching the sentences for trap-like statements.

 _And who do you know that constantly gives you crap day after day?_ Lois wondered. A person only reacted with that level of paranoia if they spent their days dodging trivial criticism over things that had nothing do to with the matters at hand.

"Remember, go off topic too much and I'm out of here." Barry warned one final time.

"Noted." Lois nodded briskly and laid out her phone to record the session. "The thing is, you said back at the press conference _-_ \- I'm assuming that was you, at least _-_ \- that you could corroborate the claim that Ms. Furie was in Central November last year, the twenty-seventh. The same day of the bomb attack."

"I have pictures. I was going to take them to the police later."

"And how long have you known Ms. Furie?"

"I met her in sixth grade, first week of school. She was networking. I met Hannah too." Barry wrapped his fingers around the cardboard cup, frowning. "You said Hannah was also at the press conference."

"We saw her. She slipped out when the man fired the bullet." Clark confirmed.

"Any insights into what she might have been doing there?" Lois wondered. "Ms. Furie didn't think there was going to be a family reunion."

Barry rolled his eyes. "There wouldn't be." he said, his tone weary and speaking of a rather lengthy term of animosity. "They're twins, you know. First half of sixth grade, it used to be you couldn't find Meredith without Hannah and vice versa. But they fell out."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Lois inquired. "If that's not going off topic."

"Only if you hate context." Barry said wryly. "I don't know what the whole problem. I think a lot of it got started in elementary school and none of us were around for that." He thought for a moment, going back over the memories of the earliest days of sixth grade. "Hannah had _problems_. Like, something you could give a definitive diagnosis to."

Lois's eyebrows went up. "Oh, those kinds of problems."

"Yeah, those kinds. The way Meredith reacted, I think it was new behavior." Barry said, shrugging. "Well, maybe not new-new, but a lot more extreme than she was used to."

"What sort of behavior was it?" Clark wondered.

"As far as I know, Hannah really liked the whole matching twin thing, but there was this one day she had a complete blow-up because Meredith wore sparkly purple nail polish instead of sparkly pink. I remember that because I thought it was such a stupid thing to get upset over." Barry explained, with this expression that suggested he _still_ thought it was stupid. "Meredith didn't think Hannah really adjusted all that well to the whole thing about middle school. I don't know if it was just there were more people or the classes or whatever. I just know by Christmas, they weren't really talking to each other anymore."

He was leaving out a ton of the details, Lois could tell. The juicy, telltale ones that would have shed the right shade of light on the deteriorated relationship between the Furie twins. But the _Daily Planet_ wasn't a trashy gossip rag like the _Metropolis Star_.

"Did Meredith coming out as a lesbian affect their relationship any?" Clark asked. Being gay was still quite taboo for some and the mindset was prevalent among the Baby Boomer parents. The Furie parents were/had been old enough to fit the late end of that demographic and it was likely they had held views like that, causing the young Ms. Furie to be out and proud in retaliation.

Barry made a face that said _'That is an incredibly stupid question you just asked me'_ , but he shrugged and said out loud: "Yeah. Definitely. Hannah actually outed Meredith as gay in the middle of a school assembly in seventh grade, before any of the rest of us knew. Then she started dying her hair, wearing crazy gothy clothes, and basically doing everything she possibly could to make herself visually distinct from Meredith short of plastic surgery. Like I said, she was pretty hung up on the _identical_ part, so I guess she figured if they couldn't _be_ the same, they shouldn't _look_ the same."

"There's a logic there I could almost recognize if I squinted a lot." Lois commented. She could sort of get it, wanting to visually separate oneself from the twin, but she couldn't imagine behaving towards her own sister the way Hannah behaved towards hers. "So if there wasn't going to be a family reunion, what's your best guess for what Hannah was doing around here today?"

"Schadenfreude?" Barry guessed. It was all he could think of. "When she wasn't ignoring Meredith, she tried to make her life miserable."

"What about Lance, the man with the shoulders? How does he fit in?" Clark asked.

"Okay, first of all, Hannah was twenty pounds of crazy in a wet paper sack. She had this overwhelmingly high opinion of herself, stalked my friend Malcolm for over two months because she declared she was in love with him despite starting a rumor about him being a dirty trash hobo with gangrene on his balls, and had this psycho idea that she was a special magic snowflake fairy princess that _almost_ got her sent to Middle Haven Psychiatric, but she guilt-tripped her parents out of the idea but it still says something that they were seriously considering it and _almost_ did it. Hannah was delusional _and_ a moron." Barry said dryly, pushing his fingers into his hair. "And that was on a good day."

"What a delightful, charming young woman. I can see why her sister wants nothing to do with her." Lois commented, just as dry. "And about Lance? Did you know him too?"

"A little bit. He was a senior when I was freshman and we were on the cross-country team for half a season. He got kicked off for doping and apparently there is something about Malcolm's face that compels people like Lance to punch it. The school expelled him before the end of the semester." Barry explained. "He was an ugly chunk of ugliness. Nature could not make him pretty."

"Were his shoulders always that big?"

"Actually, I think they're bigger."

"Alright," Lois looked at Clark. "Roid-rage might give him the super-shoulders, but he's plowed Superman over like a bowling pin before and that wasn't normal human speeds. We'll tak about that later." She turned back to Barry. "How do he and Hannah fit together?"

"They joined the same gang. It made them feel special." Barry answered, and that was really about all the explanation he had to give. Anyone who had been ostracized from the greater community wanted to feel like they were a part of something. Something that catered to their hurt feels and gave them a sense of entitlement over the people who had shunned them.

"Around junior year, Hannah started hanging out with Lance and these other people after school. I remember because she went out of her way to call attention to her 'cooler friends'. Like they were actually cooler than Meredith. Okay, we weren't high school royalty or anything, I mean, there was no way. My graduating class was four thousand people big and _-_ -"

"Whoa, whoa!" Lois cut him off. "Did you just say that your graduating class had _four thousand people_ in it?"

Barry shrugged. "Central City does not believe in multiple high schools, so yes, there was roughly... sixteen thousand students in the entire school the last I knew."

" _What_? How do they keep track of that many students? Did they tag you like migratory birds?!" Lois demanded.

Barry grinned. "Y'know, Iris asked me that exact question once." he said. "Anyways, Meredith was pretty well-liked in our _-_ \- home-room? They called it something else, but it was basically home-room for a hundred people. So we weren't unpopular and Hannah was the person to whom locker-stuffing happened, so..."

"These people. Like, delinquents? The bad kids your parents warn you about?" Lois prompted.

"Pretty much." Barry nodded. "We never saw them do anything, but they always looked like they would start vandalizing things. They did threaten a few students. The principal had to ban them from the school grounds because they were making the parents nervous."

Lois looked thoughtful for a moment. "Alright, let me see if I've got this one. Hannah had undiagnosed issues that I'm not even going to try and guess at. Behavior gets weird around sixth grade. Meredith became one of the cool kids. Hannah did not. Hannah wanted to be one of the cool kids and just ended up looking crazier than usual. Then she fell in with the wrong crowd, disappeared off the face of the planet, falls into an even worse crowd, and possibly turns up in a terrorist's home-video."

She looked at Barry for confirmation of accuracy. He nodded towards her and held up a hand as if to say _'there you go'_.

Lois fist-pumped briefly. "Furthermore, Hannah does not like her sister and has actively attempted to make her life miserable in the past, before they stopped talking completely. Would it be out of character for Hannah to go as far as to show up in a terrorist video just to get her jollies on screwing over her twin?"

"Depends on how psychopathic she's gotten in the last five years." Barry guessed. He grabbed his bag and made to stand. "Is that it? I should go. I wanna swing by the police station before it gets too late."

"A few more questions, if you don't mind." Clark said, making a motion for him to stay seated. "There's been something we've been trying to investigate recently. Actually, a man named Jason Trask. Reports put him in Central City around May of oh-two, when there was an attack made on the Furies. I was wondering if you knew anything about that?"

For a second, Barry went absolutely stiff from head to toe, like a shiver had just gone up his spine. It passed by quickly, but Clark still heard the man's heart-rate pick up a beat or two.

"No, I really don't." he said, and Clark just _knew_ it was a lie. He had no idea what the man's tells were, but his body language and his posture just screamed that it was a lie.

"Are you sure? It would have been graduation day for Central City High School. The papers corroborate the day as Ms. Furie's open house." Clark said. "You're her friend. I imagine you were in attendance."

"I was. I remember an explosion, but I was knocked out almost right away. I don't think I know anything that could help you." Barry said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Now, is that it? I really want to get down to the police station before lunch."

"Yeah, go." Lois waved a hand impatiently.

Barry gathered his bag and with a hurried 'thanks' and tossed down a five to cover the cocoa and the muffin he snagged on his way out the door. The bell above jingled with his exit. They didn't lose sight of him immediately, as he turned left down the sidewalk and walked in front of the windows, already fiddling with his phone to get his bearings. Then he was around the corner and gone.

"He lied." Lois muttered.

"I know." Clark nodded. "He also could be legally barred from saying anything. The info was smothered. That probably includes all individuals who were present at the time of the attack."

"He could have just told us that." Lois said, still frowning in the direction that Barry Allen had disappeared in. She could completely understand his reasons for being defensive. Meredith Furie was a friend and he didn't want to see her get put in jail for something she wasn't at fault for. He was clearly someone who didn't like talking to reporters and the nature of his job probably had something to do with that. Even forensic scientists who worked with the police were likely to with-hold some details from the press.

He had spoken like he was used to giving reports, though; succinct with the relevant information right there on the surface, expressed in simple terms that put the message right through.

She slapped Clark's arm lightly. "We should head back to the _Planet_. We got some research to do, Smallville."

* * *

The day was proving to be one of those long days. It was the curse of being a reporter. In addition to current assignments, you also had to deal with whatever cropped up over the course of the day and they usually took priority over the long-term assignments. The story on Ms. Furie was far more immediate and demanded proper attention, so they poured their energy into researching what history they could of Meredith Furie and Atlas Industries.

When the mid-afternoon rolled around and they both still at their desks and the coffee-intake was wearing off, Lois promptly announced her intention to order them a pizza.

Since the nearest pizza joint wasn't far and was insanely delicious, she took the opportunity to make the stroll down there to place her order directly. It was always good to step away from the desk for a moment or two and get the blood moving again. A few minutes of activity did wonders to un-frazzle a brain. She slipped into a corner store to buy a few things and eventually returned to pick up the pizza order.

"Pizza's here." Lois announced _-_ \- unnecessarily, Clark had been able to smell it when she'd passed the fortieth floor. "Find anything useful?"

Clark grinned proudly. "I did a lot of digging into the _Central Tribune_ 's website. I actually found an article that pre-dated the privacy agreement Mrs. Furie placed on the guests. They yanked it from the main archive, but they didn't delete it fully. Addie did her magic and pulled it up for me." he said, turning the computer monitor towards her so she could see it.

"All right! Score one for Lane and Kent!" Lois cheered, swapping a high five with him.

She placed the pizza box on the corner of his desk, along with the shopping bag that contained foam plates and cups, a packet of chocolate chip cookies and a two-liter of soda. They helped themselves to pizza and mozzarella sticks, and spent the next few minutes in hungry silence.

"So what turns up in this wonderful article that I will thank Addie for finding?" Lois asked, once her stomach was no longer quite so demanding and some of the fog had cleared from her head.

"Well, the day of the attack wasn't just Ms. Furie's graduation open house, but also it was her nineteenth birthday." Clark explained. "Barry Allen actually has no idea what happened. He wasn't lying; he did get knocked out. The concussion put him in the hospital for a day or two. Furthermore, he actually went missing during the attack."

"Whoa!" Lois drew back in surprise. "For how long?"

"Three full days." Clark answered. "Someone out for an insomniac walk at five in the morning found him on the fourth day, on the banks of the reservoir. Mild hypothermia and short-term memory loss to go with that concussion."

"Ooh, he _wouldn't_ remember what happened!" Lois complained. "Who found him by the reservoir?"

"The name was with-held from all reports for privacy reasons and Mr. Allen actually signed an agreement with the Keystone City mayor's office stating he wouldn't mention the name under any circumstances. He could have been jailed for telling us, for the remainder of the contract period, if someone found out. I checked; they're twenty-year contracts and he's only twenty-three, so he'd be looking at fifteen years in a maximum security prison."

Lois grabbed her old battered D-ring binder off the desk, where it had made a semi-permanent home in the last nine months. She flipped through it until she found the right purple tab.

"The morning of May twenty-ninth, two-thousand-two in the Windsor Heights neighborhood of Central City. And another one in the Leawood neighborhood near the hospital, same day. An alleged sighting of Jay Garrick. Precedes Zoom by at least a year." she reported. "Garrick's the only Keystone City resident whose privacy is being so insanely looked after to the point that mayor's office would be handing out privacy agreements. The reservoir is also north of both cities, if memory serves, and Garrick is said to have a house on the north side of Keystone."

Clark shrugged. "It fits."

"Damn right it does." Lois flipped the folder shut. "Any other important pieces of information, or is that it?"

"Atlas Industries wasn't always Atlas Industries." Clark answered, though he wasn't sure how relevant it was. But they had to start somewhere. "When it was headquartered in Central City with Gregor Furie at the helm, it was Precision Horizons Incorporated: Today's future is tomorrow's reality."

"Classy."

"Ms. Furie re-branded the company when she took over after her father's death. According to her statement, the name-change was supposed to separate it from the tragedy."

"Huh, that's what Luthor said about LexCorp." Lois commented with no small amount of suspicion. "It sounds strange, doesn't it. Gregor Furie dies on his daughter's nineteenth birthday and she takes over the company shortly afterwards."

"You're just biased after the LuthorCorp/LexCorp debacle." Clark pointed out.

"Hey, any smart person knows that it's highly unlikely that Lionel Luthor actually committed suicide." Lois reminded him. "It's still a little suspicious, no matter how you look at it. Meredith Furie graduates high school. The very same day, her open house slash birthday party is attacked and her father is killed in all the chaos. Obviously Mom has no interest in taking over the company. The only person who could have fought Ms. Furie for CEO was her own sister who, by all reports, just walks off the face of the planet."

Clark frowned. "I thought you were suspicious about Hannah."

"I am, but I'm considering all angles." Lois said, picking off a pepperoni. "Ms. Furie might not be all that squeaky clean herself."

"I think you're off base a little, Lois." Clark said, making Lois sit up with a ' _prove it_ ' expression. "It was planned, but not by Ms. Furie. In March two-thousand-two _-_ \- this is from the same article, by the way _-_ \- several experimental weapons were reported missing from a Precision Horizons secure storage facility. One of them was an ultra-sonic device. It would emit high-frequency sound waves to disorient the opponent."

"Hmm, why does that sound familiar?"

"Probably because it does. It was inspired by a metahuman vigilante from Star City, way back in the day, the Canary. She could scream at ultra-sonic pitches." Clark explained. "Literally, in the same week, Hannah Furie runs away from home. Her parents filed a missing person report after it was clear she hadn't been seen in twenty-four hours. They said she had a habit of disappearing from dawn to dusk, so they had to be sure she wasn't coming home this time."

Lois went: "Hmm..."

"Then, two and a half months later, the same ultra-sonic device reappears on May twenty-fifth, graduation day. According to the report, the device appeared to be 'juiced up past eleven'. The autopsy reported that Mr. Furie's internal organs were pulverized into pudding, like they had been beaten with a sledgehammer." Clark finished.

Lois was halfway through a bite of pizza and she just froze a little. It seemed to take some effort for her to swallow it.

"Okay, that's something. And now we're back to being suspicious about Hannah." she said. "Now, let's see if we've got this sequenced right. Weapons are stolen, Hannah runs away. Two months later, Daddy is killed in a planned attack on what was undoubtedly a public and probably high-profile party. I imagine there were some senior executives there and Mrs. Furie had some friends in high society. Hannah was last seen in the company of some very shady people and there's an implication that she might have been involved with the attack and the theft, but never shows up ever again, not even for her dad's funeral. At the very least, no one saw her."

"It's possible the other Miss Furie planned the attack out of overblown homophobia and her father was just an unfortunate victim." Clark suggested. The 'twenty pounds of crazy in a wet paper sack' description was still echoing in his head. Hannah had also been lined up for a stay in Middle Haven Psychiatrict, if she hadn't talked her way out of it. "Guilt could be the reason she didn't show up at the funeral. She might be back now to finish the job."

"And starts by throwing her sister down as hard as she can, possibly destroying Atlas Industries in the process because why not." Lois beamed proudly. "Good job, Smallville. We'll make a proper investigative reporter out of you yet. Have another mozzarella stick."

Clark fought down the flush of warmth at the praise, but accepted the cheesy bread.

"Okay, it sounds like there might be a pretty solid case against Hannah Furie, but I still think we need to eliminate Meredith Furie from the suspect pool. Call it Luthor-induced paranoia, but let's just make sure she had nothing to do with the bombing or the attack on Future World." Lois declared.

"How do you want to do that?" Clark asked.

"I'd tell you to put on your running shoes and meet me in the Atlas Plaza at midnight tonight, if I didn't have other plans forced upon me. I'm having dinner with the General." She still wasn't very enthused about that.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Lois." Clark told her. "I thought you and your dad were making progress."

"We ain't the Brady Bunch, Smallville." the reporter reminded him. "Dad's still working up the guts to get the stick out of his ass and I have some General-related wounds that still need healing over. I didn't get lucky like you did."

There was a tinge of hurt in her voice that made Clark wince internally. She resented him a little _-_ \- just a little, for having loving parents who could function emotionally and didn't consider filial love a deadly sin. General Lane had stayed at a distance throughout Lois's life growing up and her mother had filled in the gap. After Ella Lane had passed away, Lois's first instinct had been to fall back on her father for that emotional support, only to find him even more lacking than before. They had made progress in the last six months towards something that resembled a family dynamic instead of a general and his soldiers, but that wasn't going to make up for the first twenty-four years of Lois's life.

"Come out to Smallville for Thanksgiving."

The offer slipped out of Clark's mouth before he could think about it.

Lois blinked, bemused. "What?"

"You and your sister. Smallville for Thanksgiving. With me. And my parents." Clark elaborated, deciding to run with it. "I think you'd like it. My parents have been trying to convince me to convince you to come to Smallville. They think it would be good for you."

He wasn't sure if showing Lois a healthy family dynamic would be rubbing it in her face what she might never get or if it would make her explode again in a fit of jealous anger again, but there was no taking back his words now.

She didn't have to accept.

Nonetheless, her face twitched like she wanted to smile. She had met the Kents when they had come up to Metropolis last year for Thanksgiving and they had treated her very kindly and quite enthusiastically. Thinking back, Lois wouldn't mind getting to know them a little better than those few hours had allowed. They were nice people. They had raised Clark, after all.

"Well, if Ma and Pa Kent think so, I'll have to give it serious consideration." she said. "But I don't know... _Smallville_ for the holidays? Isn't that like visiting a prison for a vacation?"

"It won't be like that." Clark said, smirking nonetheless. Lois was bound and determined to make fun of Smallville's remote-ness and location until her dying breath. He still couldn't figure out what she thought was so hilarious about it, but at least she was showing some kind of interest in his home-town.

"So what would it be like? Smallville for the holidays." Lois wondered. "I keep picturing a Thomas Kinkade painting with this Norman Rockwell vibe. Sloping cottages and snow-covered streets with a heavy nineteen-fifties nostalgia."

Clark smiled slyly. "You'll have to come and find out."

Lois's first reaction was a grin. Clark had thrown down the gauntlet, challenged her in a way. She didn't sit there and ignore challenges, even one as petty and pointless as this. Pointless, because Lois rarely made plans for the holidays _-_ \- never anywhere to go, anyways. The offer was out there and it was too nice and thoughtful to leave dangling in the breeze.

But where was the fun in taking it up right away?

"We'll see, Smallville."

* * *

-0-


	8. A Failure to Communicate

Good news everyone!

(read author's note at end)

* * *

Chapter Eight: A Failure to Communicate

General Sam Lane was awful with the idea of communication, so in practice, he was even worse.

It was his fault. There was no denying that. But it was made worse by the fact that he had also been raised an army brat and into a stricter environment where everyone was expected to know exactly what to do and when to do it. In his family, everyone had made the transition from civilian to soldier by the age of eighteen, with a childhood of preparation behind them. He had relatives in every branch of the military, enlisted to officers of all ranks. A long, proud history of serving the country, decorated with various medals for bravery and courage, valor and honor.

The Lane family had succeeded and excelled in the military because they understood the simplicity of being a cog in the machine, spinning at the right speed in the right direction and making everything work.

And then there was Lois Lane, who had popped out of the machine like a faulty piston and rolled away like fuck that noise.

Lois Lane was many things, but she wasn't really a team player. Truthfully, she was much better at being a leader. And that was where she butted heads with her father.

What General Lane forgot all the time was that both his daughters, but his oldest especially, had been raised to be strong, independent women who said 'no' and didn't bow or fall into line in any way that granted men power over them. He had forgot that they had been taught to question authority and always seek the truth, because authority was sometimes wrong and lies weren't acceptable. General Lane was exactly the sort of man who went after the corrupt members of the Army and didn't stand for nonsense in his military.

And then he got very confused when his daughters refused to obey his orders or fall into line, and even more confused when they back-talked him and questioned _his_ authority. Lucy was less prolific about it, but that still didn't make her the good one. She just looked like the good one compared to Lois.

General Lane's biggest failing was his inability to communicate effectively with his children. He had the unfortunate habit of expecting them to obey _because_ and got angry when they questioned him because he saw them as soldiers more than daughters and once a soldier had their order, they carried it out without wondering about the motives behind it.

"So, you're _actually_ going to have dinner with General Dad?" Lucy called out, looking towards the partially open bathroom door. "Don't we sort of do that twice a month already?"

"He wants to get fancy." Lois shrugged. "It's some Italian place off Centennial Park. Must be new. I've never heard of it."

"Okay, but dinner with General Dad, alone and in public?"

"Don't make it sound like a horror story, little sister."

Lucy frowned, mostly at the strangeness of the arrangement. The family dinners were a new thing for them; their dad struggling to try and get to know them a little better by ordering in and laying out the plates and silverware at the table and making very awkward small talk. Lucy was much more accustomed to eating off a paper plate in her bedroom with the TV in the background for company. Lois would sprawl on her couch and eat ramen out of a coffee mug and scroll through social media for the pick of the day.

General Lane had never told Lois, and just Lois, to put on a dress and meet him in a restaurant downtown.

It smelled kind of funny to the fourteen year old.

 _Dad's up to something, I bet._

There was no saying what, considering how closely to the chest General Lane played his cards. Lucy put her chin back down on her arms and turned to the next page of her _Captain America_ comic. She lounged on her sister's much wider bed while Lois changed in the bathroom.

"What if he's tryin' to marry you off?" the teenager suddenly found herself asking.

There was a clatter as something hit the sink countertop rather hard.

"Don't be stupid, Lucy." Lois scowled. "Dad knows better than to try something idiotic like that."

"But what if he is?" Lucy pressed. "I mean, you're like twenty-five-"

"Twenty-four."

"An' you never dated or anything. Not after Colletta, I mean. And we never said General Dad was all that smart about that thing. Seriously, what if he's trying to play matchmaker or something? Hook you up with the straightest whitest guy he can find?"

"He'd be stupid to try." Lois said again, letting herself out of the bathroom. She struck a pose. "How do I look?"

She had put on her frill-free little black dress; a sleeve-less A-line that had served her well on many occasions when she couldn't judge how formal the setting was supposed to be. It bore little ornamentation, allowing it to get by as semi-casual, but was classy enough to function as suitable evening wear for a black-tie event. That the was the nature of a little black dress.

She had also pulled her hair up in a sleek, twisting bun. Her make-up was a little more heavy than usual and she had put on her best lucky shoes; a black pair of heels that glimmered like mother-of-pearl.

Lucy shrugged. "I bet Clark's jaw would hit the floor if he saw you." she said.

"Anything I wear makes Clark's jaw hit the floor." Lois pointed out. "I could show up in my pajamas and he'd still tell me I look great. All in his best little farm boy voice. He'd be completely serious."

"That's 'cause he _likes_ you. Like when a man _lurves_ a woman likes you." Lucy said gleefully. She was a teenager, but she wasn't blind to the way Clark Kent glanced at her older sister whenever Lois wasn't looking.

There was a good chance, actually, that a blind man was entirely capable of seeing the way Clark looked at Lois.

"Girl, you're fourteen years old. Cut that out." Lois ordered, going over to her jewelry box to pick out a necklace.

"I'll be fifteen soon enough."

"Yeah, in December. That's still months away."

She hooked the chain around her neck and let the pendant fall against her chest, absently brushing away the loose strands of hair that weren't long enough to catch in the bun. She whirled around and pointed to her sister commandingly.

"Homework?"

"Didn't have any. First week of school."

"Good." Lois nodded. "There's frozen mini-pizzas in the freezer if you want something. Don't burn down the building. Leave a light on. No wild parties or strangers. Bed by nine."

"Ten."

"Nine-thirty and a cannoli, final offer."

Lucy raised her chin. "Nine-forty-five and I can have the cannoli for breakfast."

"Nine-thirty. You have to catch the seven-twenty cross-town just to get to school on time." Lois reminded her. "If it wasn't Thursday night, I wouldn't care what time you went to bed, but I'm gonna try to be the responsible sister here. Remember the deal."

"Fine." Lucy scowled at the early morning she had ahead of her. Catching the seven-twenty cross-town to get back to North Bridge on time meant getting up no later than seven and that was twenty minutes of sleep she wasn't going to get back.

The deal was this: If Lucy needed to get away from Dad for a night, she was welcome to spend it with Lois. If it was a school night, she was expected to get to bed on time. It worked for both of them. Lucy could get a respite from their dad and the sisters could figure out how to reconnect.

"Can I still have the cannoli for breakfast?" Lucy wondered.

"Yeah, sure, you're a teenager. You could eat cardboard for breakfast and still get some nutritional value out of it." Lois muttered, picking up her clutch purse. She snapped it open, checking on her wallet and her pepper spray and the set of brass knuckles because getting a gun permit in this town was too much trouble.

"Alright, cab's gonna be here in a few minutes. See you. House rules."

"I know, I know. Have fun." Lucy waved a hand, her attention already back to Captain America trying to talk down the Winter Soldier.

The bright yellow cab was pulling up to the curb as Lois was coming down the stairs and it beeped its horn. She had never owned a car; Metropolis's extensive public transportation system made a car redundant and downtown parking was an absolute bitch. She only had her driver's license so she could rent cars and drive out of the city, if need be. Cabs were a bit expensive, but they got you where you needed to go without having to worry about things like parking and the drivers were wizard when it came to navigating traffic.

At seven in the evening on a warm Thursday night, Metropolis was buzzing and humming and already shakin' its booty (in the proverbial manner). The warm summer days didn't last long this close to Canada, so the warm, steamy evenings were seized and throttled and choked clear of all life and potential until the people had gotten their fix. The bars were open, the clubs were open, the restaurant patios were open. If it could be patroned on a Thursday night, it was open. Everything was done up in broad neon and bright colors, like flashy birds of paradise trying to attract mates.

The new Italian restaurant was right across the street from Centennial Park, almost sparkling in its infancy. It was generically classy in a manner that faked wealth, like synthetic diamonds that were _almost_ the real thing, but still not. But even synthetic diamonds demanded a minimum standard in class and so did the new restaurant. The dress code wasn't stringent, but skirts and ties were still expected. The string orchestra wasn't live, but there was still a dance floor. The chandeliers were glass, but the lighting was still soft and moody. The food wouldn't be anything special, but it still smelled good.

Lois gave her name to the hostess and was led across the main floor to a section set a little apart from the rest with frosted-glass dividers. Her father was at one of the window tables, wearing his dress uniform. The stars of his rank and the various banners for his awards gleamed brightly in the soft light of the sphere on the table. But he wasn't alone. Accompanying him was another military man, this one a sergeant with far fewer honors but with a uniform that was just as crisp and impeccable as the General's.

He had an upturned pug nose that afford Lois an unwanted look at his nose hairs. His blonde hair was carefully gelled down for the occasion. His smile was weird, bordering on creepy. His lips didn't pull back from his teeth the way a normal person's did. It was more like a snarl or a grimace, and his eyes didn't twinkle enough to off-set the look.

"Lois! There you are."

General Lane stood up at his daughter's approach to the table, giving a strained and thin smile; he was still trying to figure out how to do it right. The sergeant hastily followed suit and his jaw slowly dropped. His brown eyes raked up and down Lois's form and his strange snarl-grin widened, leaving her with the unsettling impression that he had just imagined her naked.

"Whoa, Dad, if you'd just told me this was a double-date, I would have brought a friend." Lois quipped, partially in an effort to distract herself from the leering expression.

"It's not a date, Lois. It's an introduction." General Lane corrected. "This is a colleague of mine, Sergeant John Corben."

"Charmed, Miss Lane." Sergeant Corben said, in a nasally voice that desperately wanted to carry a British accent. "You're every bit the lovely beauty I imagined."

He took her hand by the fingers and bent over to kiss her knuckles, peering at her while he did. He tried for some combination of courtly and sensuous. He didn't slobber on her hand, but the smoldering bedroom eyes he aimed at her were very inappropriate.

Lois's skin crawled.

"It's wonderful to meet you." Corben went on. "Your father's told me quite a bit about you."

"Well, that must have been a short conversation." Lois commented.

General Lane made an awkward sound, but it was Corben who laughed. The sound was nasally like his voice and seemed to originate entirely from the back of his nose. Not deep from the bottom of his lungs like Clark's - that full belly laugh that shook in Lois's bones...

"He did mention your razor tongue." the sergeant added, while obeying the silent order from the general to have a seat. "I've been looking forward to meeting you for some time now."

"Really?" Lois disguised her gritted teeth as a grin and glanced over to his father, who was doing a wonderful job of not displaying any outward nervousness. "I'm afraid he's told me nothing about you."

"Then tonight will be one of discovery." Corben declared.

A waiter passed out the menus and the wine list. The dinner courses were what Lois expected to find in a mid-level restaurant - things that were rather generically Italian; what any American could expect to find and truthfully, not all that authentic. Fortunately, it was hard to screw up chicken alfredo and there was a rather good white wine on the list.

Lois had a feeling she was going to need some good wine to get through the next hour.

This was a set-up. A blind date style set-up, only she had not been informed of the plans. Corben was attractive by most standards; both physically and in the sense that he was a sergeant in the army. To army brats, that was quite appealing. And Lucy was right: This was absolutely something their father would do, no matter how stupid it was.

Once the dinner orders had been placed, the waiter swept off, leaving them in relative privacy. Corben leaned forward and resumed his snarl-grin. Lois wondered if he had any idea what that expression of his actually looked like, and if he thought it was charming instead of somewhat creepy.

"I understand that you're a journalist." Corben started conversationally.

That was probably the only thing General Lane had told him; it was the only fact he knew for certain because he read the _Daily Planet_. The general didn't deal in half-certainties and incomplete information, and he didn't move forward without verified facts.

In turn, that was also the only thing Corben knew.

"Investigative reporter." Lois corrected. Then, proudly, she added: "And a Pulitzer winner for my editorial _The City of Tomorrow_ -"

"Which paper do you work for?" Corben asked, completely cutting her off.

Lois scowled. "I wasn't done talking."

"Yes, she'll be covering the LExpo this weekend for the _Daily Planet_." General Lane said.

"Ah, I was just about to ask." Corben said, his eyes gleaming. "I'm going to be there as well, Miss Lane. I can't tell you why - classified information and you're only a civilian. But perhaps we'll cross paths this Saturday."

"Maybe." Lois said. _Fat chance of that._ She thought. She'd hide behind Clark first.

The LExpo, or the Lex Luthor Technology and Innovation Expo, was the hot new thing to close out summer. Forget concerts or other festivals where a bald man didn't show off his ego, this was _the_ thing. The highlight of the summer, seriously. It was ridiculous, but that was the sort of influence that Mr. Luthor wielded. He was about as popular as Superman.

Everyone thought he was such a damn straight stand-up really cool hip guy who "got" the younger crowd in the way older people thought the younger crowd should be got.

The two-day only event was geared to expose talented young scientists and engineers and the like to showcase their skills and hard work to a broad range of employers and investors. Luthor himself was also going to unveil brand new equipment that would help Metropolis improve in "more than just a leap and bound". Luthor was particularly notorious for employing young up and comers, and supporting their sometimes radical notions. _"Out of madness often comes genius. And you never know what can change the future."_ he was known to say.

While the LExpo would certainly what it was meant to do, it still felt like Luthor was facilitating another opportunity to say _'Hey, look at me! I'm bald and mad with power!'_

"I tried to be a journalist once." Corben said. "But they said I was too stiff and formal even for a newspaper. I suppose I really wasn't any good at it. Anyways, I think I found my passion with the military. I can't tell you exactly what I do - it's very hush-hush. I have driven tanks and that's going to be very useful at the LExpo."

It was like he was trying to hook her interest by being very vague with his job description and his role in the LExpo. He probably had something to do with the new equipment that Luthor was unveiling, given the fact that Corben was basically trying to invite her to ask questions about it for the purposing of expounding once again that it was a secret.

"Wonderful." Lois commented.

The waiter came back with their drinks. General Lane had selected something deep and red, while the sergeant had opted for a foamy mug of imported beer.

"Dad, you really should have mentioned you were bringing a guest." Lois said, not able to keep the acid entirely out of her voice. "It really doesn't help to build communication skills if you lie by omission."

"Lois, we're in a public venue. I don't want to have this conversation with you." General Lane said.

"And if you knew anything about me, you'd know that public venues don't stop me." Lois pointed out. "So we are going to talk about this right now because Lucy made an observation that's got me worried already-"

The general turned to his subordinate. "I'm sorry, sergeant. Lois and I have been working through several issues. I thought we'd made better progress-"

"No, no, you talk to me, Dad. Don't talk to him." Lois ordered, her voice commanding enough to make her father turn back to her. "You called this an introduction. Is this a blind date?"

If it was, she was going to need more than one glass of wine to get through the conversation ahead.

She got a weary look from her father, like he was being caused entirely too much trouble.

"Lois, I'm nearly fifty-five years old and I have spent several of those years watching you waste your life in the _Daily Planet_. I want to see you happy." he said.

"Then stop trying to interfere." the reporter suggested. "It's pretty simple. Don't mess with the details of my life and I'll be happy-"

"That's not what I mean." General Lane interrupted. "You'll be twenty-five next week and you're not even dating. I don't think you've dated since college. Are you planning to be unmarried by your thirtieth birthday?"

"Well General Dad, if this is how you're going to act about my single life, then yes, I think I shall remain unmarried well past my thirtieth birthday." Lois grinned and sipped her wine. Good wine; it had a nice smooth taste that would go well with the alfredo. "Besides, you have a terrible habit of interfering with my dating life as it is. I didn't break up with Colletta _just_ because the relationship wasn't working out, remember."

Corben got a slightly strange look on his face. "Colletta?" he repeated slowly, sounding out the syllables.

"My old girlfriend." Lois said, shrugging. It was very lackadaisical, but a front to cover up the twinge of discomfort she always felt when she brought up her sexual orientation in front of her father.

General Lane's expression became very unhappy indeed, for he lived and breathed "Don't ask, don't tell". Sergeant Corben blinked rapidly a few times, his brain trying to process the new bit of information that had been shoved at him.

"You- like girls?" he asked, his voice a tad strangled.

"Men moreso, but y'know, every once in a while, this pretty lady walks into my line of sight and I feel that sapphic pull." Lois admitted, making a fluttering motion with her hand. The sapphic pull tended to be very brief. She sometimes wondered if she had been forever put off of romatic relationships with women.

"And that's what I'm talking about." General Lane said, still looking a little pained. "Lucy needs a role model. Sergeant Corben is the best man there is. He's a model soldier and he has an excellent future in the army. Not like that Kent fellow..."

It took every ounce of willpower Lois possessed to not slam the glass down on the table-top. What a sneer in her father's voice, how dare he-! Clark Kent was a good man and he might even be Superman! Even if he wasn't Superman, there was still no better a role model for Lucy than Clark Kent. She approved of him and he had a soft spot for her. They got along famously.

"You're going to find that our opinions are different." she said.

"Who's Kent?" Corben inquired. There was tone in his voice that sounded quite a bit like unwarranted jealousy.

"A friend, co-worker. We're partners. Sometimes we share the byline." Lois explained. They had been partners ever since last year, after Perry had deemed them a good match. They got along well and frankly, there was no other person Lois would rather work with.

There was an "it" to get on the mechanics of working with Lois Lane and Clark got "it".

The rest of dinner was horrible and awkward. Corben tried - Lois would give him that much. The sergeant tried to engage her interest and attention, sharing stories of his own life growing up on a military base and relating some vaguely amusing anecdotes about his short-lived adventures in high school journalism. They did have those two things in common and it covered a fairly broad range of experiences. But he also made it perfectly clear that the only voice he wanted to hear was his own. He cut her off every time if her reply happened to be longer than five words. Lois could barely find it in herself to present an expression other than a neutral bitch-face.

Corben hadn't passed any of her tests. She didn't find him physically attractive. He wasn't tall or dark-haired or classically handsome. Despite his military posture, there was a strange kind of gorilla-like hunch in his shoulders. The pug nose was similarly unattractive and his fingers were too spindly and spidery. She really didn't like the way he looked at her. Throughout dinner, he would stare unblinkingly at her and then lick his lips. Lois found herself fighting the simultaneous urges to either cover her chest or stab Corben's hand with the fork.

His personality seemed to work roughly on the same lines as being crude and liking itself too much to allow room for other people. He wasn't a loud person, but he liked to be overbearing. No one was in the habit of telling him to back down.

And then there was the one fact Lois could not get past.

This was a blind date that she hadn't asked for.

Lois did not date for a variety of reasons. She didn't date women anymore because she- well... The relationship with Colletta hadn't been very strong to begin with; they really were better friends than girlfriends. And then her dad, so steeped in military protocol that he hadn't been able to fathom the idea that his eldest was anything but heterosexual, that he would certainly try to insert herself into any of her sapphic relationships and that was just more work than Lois wanted to commit herself to.

Men were safer, but she didn't get very lucky with the men who wanted to take her out for a drink or a movie. If they didn't turn out like Corben, then they were bland and boring and insecure in more ways than she had ever thought possible. She never seemed to land on that balanced in between where they were confident without being overbearing and interesting without being dangerous.

By the time the check was placed on the table, Lois was more than ready to get the hell out of here.

 _I'm really going to have to start having chaperones along the next time General Dad pulls a piece of shit like this._ The reporter decided, taking from the waiter the cannoli she had promised Lucy.

"Thank you for the invite, General." Corben said, looking to the man. "I had a wonderful time."

"It was a delight to have you." General Lane agreed, shaking hands with the sergeant.

"Well, I need to get home. Lucy's spending the night and I figure I shouldn't come home too late or I'll wake her up on my way in." Lois said, standing up from the table very quickly. "Dad, I'll see you around some time. Call first, full disclosure. None of _this_ again."

"I'll walk you to Fall Creek Avenue, Miss Lane." Corben said, hurrying to follow her. "It'll be easier to catch a cab from there, but Centennial Park isn't the safest place this time of night."

"Really? I always found it quite well lit and safe." Lois commented, extending her stride to try and out-pace him. "I'll be fine on my own. You can go ahead back to the base or wherever it is you're living."

"I must insist on walking you. For your safety and your father's peace of mind." the sergeant persisted, practically hanging onto her elbow as they walked out the door. "This city can be dangerous, Miss Lane."

The sergeant didn't so much as escort her across the street as he stalked her over the crosswalk and onto the well-lit paths of Centennial Park. It was completely unnecessary to escort her anywhere and to Lois, this didn't feel very much like a gesture of goodwill.

The sky had only really just darkened over Metropolis and nightfall had never heralded danger. The City of Tomorrow had always prided itself on being one of the safest cities in the Midwest. All of the lamps in Centennial Park were bright and working, the police presence was seen if not necessarily felt. She would have been fine on her own.

Corben followed so closely that Lois swore she felt his shoes literally nipping at her heels. He right inside her personal space bubble that she felt the brush of the heavy fabric of his uniform against her elbow. And his fingers reached up to graze her wrist, as if he was going to take hold on her hand. She jerked it away.

The sergeant made a groaning noise.

"You don't seem to like me very much, Miss Lane." he observed.

"No offense, but I just met you and we didn't exactly click. So I don't know what you were expecting." Lois said crossly. "I'm really not a fan of getting to know people unless it's for a story and I take a while to warm up to _anyone_."

"And what about Clark Kent? How quickly did you warm up to him?" Corben wondered, pushing his chin into the air loftily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lois demanded, frowning. The sergeant was wearing an ugly face of jealousy; eyes narrowed, lips sneering, brow wrinkled in every flavor of displeasure imaginable. "What's with the face?"

"I'm not making a face. I merely asking a question." Corben said defensively, visibly trying to rearrange his features to look less jealous. "I think I should know what I'm getting into with past relationships-"

"Hold it right there, mister!" Lois stepped in front of him and shoved her free hand into face. Corben was forced to halt just as abruptly, lest he impale his nose on one of her fingernails. "I don't know what my dad has told you, but I am _not_ available! I'm dating Clark!"

The words jumped out of her mouth before she could even process that they were on the tip of her tongue. A flush of- mortification? awkward horror? what feeling was that? - surged up in her, but she clamped down on it hard to keep her expression defiant and challenging, arms crossed.

In the year and a half she had dated Colletta, Lois had been hit on by more guys than she would have thought possible. It was like she had _exuded_ some pheremone that marked her as unavailable and those college-aged males had seen it as a challenge. Replying to their inquiries that she was dating, and shortening Colletta's name to 'Cole', had usually been enough to make those otherwise aggressive males back off the hunt.

If Corben had the idea in his head that he and Lois had a potential future together, then trotting out the tried-and-true "boyfriend card" might be enough to give him pause. If not, Lois could always put her heel in his crotch.

Corben actually snarled this time. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely. Coffee and lunch dates, mostly; we have busy schedules. But we've also done the moonlit walks at the lakeshore, Sunday morning runs thorugh the park, brunch, picnics, you get the idea." The reporter grinned wider.

None of that was a flat-out lie. Really more a lie by omission. Lois had, in fact, done all of that with Clark, but without any distinct romantic elements. Their moonlit lakeshore strolls had been more like watching for boats trying to smuggle cocaine into the city and the picnics a week-long stake-out trying to get the dirt on a scuzzy politician. And she had managed to talk Clark into being her running buddy.

"Furthermore, fuck-bucket," Lois continued. "Drop this romantic rival crap or you'll get to see just how far your balls can drop."

"There's no need to get violent and foul-mouthed, Miss Lane-" Corben started.

"No, you came here because my dad's trying to play matchmaker-"

"And you are obviously in need of a strong arm to control you-"

" _Control_ me?!" Lois burst out, taking an angry step towards the sergeant. Her fist clenched tightly until her arm shook under the tension. "I'm not some goddamn barn animal, you asshole! Women do not need to be controlled!"

"General Lane feels you've made some bad decisions in your life and that it's gone out of your control. That means this... _relationship_ you have with Mr. Kent cannot continue. I, in good conscience, also cannot allow it to continue." Corben said, taking up an unconcerned parade rest posture. "It's past time that you were brought into line, Miss Lane. Your father only wishes the best for you and he expects a firm hand to be used. I do expect to see you Saturday promptly after the exhibition-"

"Uh-uh, I'll be at the LExpo to do my job, not to see you." Lois corrected. "I don't know you, I don't like you, I don't respect you, and I don't have to pay any attention to you. So go fuck yourself with a pineapple. Good night."

She took several steps back, gauging his reaction to the words. She wouldn't turn her back on him until she was sure that he wasn't about to come running at her. Corben didn't seem like a stable fellow. He had made a few presumptuous comments. He definitely assuming too much. Blindly following orders was never a good sign. Soldiers were expected to follow orders, yes, but at some point, you had to draw a line. Corben's orders, as far as Lois could tell, were to break her down and bring her into whatever line General Lane thought was necessary.

 _Dad, I have no idea why you keep thinking I'm a dumb little girl._

She knew that she had made the right call on keeping an eye on him when Corben colored a bright red and he broke the parade rest posture, his hands coming out fisted.

"You little bitch!" he spat. "I was polite to you all evening and this is what I get in return?"

"Being polite is not some magic ticket that gets you through the door, buddy. Doesn't matter what you think on the matter." Lois said. She pointed to herself. "It's what **I** think. And I'm thinking I don't like douchebag Alpha Males like you."

The Alpha Male archetype was easily the most annoying personality type to exist. It was like a fart - typically loud, smelly, and offensive. In some respects, it was quite necessary to have them. Sometimes you felt better for having one, or if you needed to clear a room in a hurry.

But like a fart, the Alpha Male didn't contribute anything useful to society and it was best to get rid of them as soon as possible.

"Besides, you lost any right to my good side after you basically implied that you'd beat me into submission." she added.

"I said nothing of the sort!" Corben bellowed.

"Strong arm? Firm hand? How else am I supposed to interpret that as not planning to use force?" Lois questioned. He had descended pretty quickly into calling her a bitch, getting jealous over Clark's existence, getting angry when she turned him down, acting entitled just for being polite... It was obvious he was not a very mature person when it came to relationships.

Corben gritted his teeth. "Miss Lane-"

"Is there a problem here?" Superman's voice interrupted.

The sergeant jumped like he had been electrocuted. Superman was above their heads, level with the top of the lamps, his boots just touching one of them. His massive arms were crossed over his broad chest and he peered down at the scene with a mixture of unassuming curiosity and mild concern.

"I heard shouting and it sounded angry. I wanted to make sure everything was all right over here." he said.

He sounded so earnest and concerned that Lois was half-sure the tone and the facial expression were being manipulated for maximum effect. As genuine as Superman often was, the reporter didn't have many doubts that he knew exactly how to use his body language and tone to achieve a positive result. He wasn't trying to intimidate, but rather giving Corben the opportunity to walk. He didn't want there to be a problem.

At the least, the sergeant recognized that, along with the sheer physical might that was Superman. There really wasn't a soul alive who could go toe to toe with the Man of Steel and hope to actually win. And Corben knew that.

He jerked his collar straight and smoothed down his hair. "Yes, everything is all right. No problem." he said.

"Good." Superman smiled, loosening his tighter posture. He stepped off the street lamp and down to the walking path, his red cape fluttering behind him. "If you don't mind- Sergeant Corben?" The alien peered at the name-plate on the uniform, scanning the rank medal for confirmation. "Sergeant Corben, I'll see Miss Lane safely to a taxi. I'm sure you have a base curfew to mind."

"Yes..." Corben agreed slowly. He tugged at his collar again. "Miss Lane, it was a pleasure. I do hope we can meet again."

"Don't ever talk to me again." Lois smiled.

The sergeant made an indistinct grumbling noise, but he turned sharply and walked away.

"Thanks. For a minute there, I was worried I was going to have to fight him. Blood's a bitch to get out of fabric." Lois brushed imaginary debris off the skirt. "I could have crushed the cannoli too. Lucy wouldn't have been happy."

"You look nice." Superman told her. She did. She looked very nice. This was the first time he had ever seen her in properly formal clothes and _wow_! She was a bombshell!

"Aw, thank you." Lois beamed. "Oh god I told him I was dating Clark!"

And there was that awkward horror/humilation feeling again. She covered her face with her free hand and her skin turned hot and she gave herself a moment to wallow in that feeling of wanting the ground to open up underneath her.

"Who?" Superman asked politely.

Lois lowered her hand and looked at the Man of Steel- was he blushing? It was hard to tell with the yellow-orange lighting, but she could have sworn there was a pink tinge in his cheeks.

"Oh, just a coworker of mine." Lois muttered, waving a hand. "I was trying to see if Corben would back off, but I can't believe I said that at all. I guess he was just the first guy I thought of."

"D-Do you- like him? This- This guy, Clark?" Superman wondered, his voice oddly stuttering. His cheeks were definitely a little pinker than normal.

Lois's brain screeched to a halt. Did she? Did she like Clark like _that_? Did _Clark_ like her like that? She had started with the intention of keeping this strictly professional, but Clark had had such a warm and open affability to him that it had been hard _not_ to become friends with him. But the potential to go _further_? Clark had hardly dated himself; his love life was only slightly less existent than hers. What if _he_ wasn't ready for a more serious commitment? She didn't want to push the idea at him and ruin what they had. They had a good thing going and she wanted it to last.

"Well, I- guess- I mean, he's a good friend and I like him _as_ a friend, I just don't know if there's a... a _romantic_ potential to whatever we've got going on." Lois said, half- shrugging her way through it. "Why am I even talking about this with you? This isn't going to help the rumors, y'know. You and me on a walk through the park at dusk. I've been getting called your girlfriend lately. Which makes no sense. We'd have to do a lot more than just fall out of windows and get rescued to actually be in a relationship."

"That's mostly on you, Miss Lane." Superman pointed out mildly. Getting thrown out windows was a new trend for her. "In any case, I have every confidence that, should you need to, you'll be able to set the record straight."

"Your confidence in me is stellar. Whatever did I do to deserve it?" Lois wondered rhetorically, resuming walking once more.

"You're a good person." Superman told her sincerely. He glanced over his shoulder, partially to make sure that the Sergeant Corben wasn't hanging around. "Why were you with the sergeant? I thought you were having dinner with your father tonight."

"General Lane decided to try and play matchmaker tonight and I _never told_ you about my plans because we don't talk casually." Lois narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "The only person I told, outside of my own family, was a man named Clark Kent. Now unless you're him..."

She trailed off and let it hang, providing an opening for a potential confession. The last twelve hours had been full of too many coincidences to ignore. Clark disappearing just before Superman turned up and vice versa. Not just the constantly showing up on her assignments, but knowing details that she hadn't told anyone else except Clark. Same inflection, same voice, same physical features and body structure... The eye color was easily explained - color contacts or a quirk of his alien biology. And Clark _never_ talked about his evening plans with her, because he probably spent his evenings flying around and stopping crime wherever he could catch it. Wouldn't want to end up contradicting himself.

 _Oh... shit..._ Superman backpedaled mentally, otherwise tightening his jaw in an effort to not let his nerves show. He hoped the sweat that he felt was strictly imaginary. _I've got to get better at separating the life of Clark Kent from Superman. I am making this way too obvious. Lois is a lot more observant than other people, but if she figures it out, other people might too._

"Is there something I should know? Something important, maybe?" the reporter wondered, glaring at the Man of Steel.

"No, Miss Lane. I don't think there's anything. But you'd be the first to hear about it." Superman said, stepping back from her. "I have to go. I can hear someone asking for help. Get home safely."

He burst into the air fast enough to send Lois's skirt swirling up around her waist and she hastily pushed the fabric down. By the time she looked up, Superman was already well gone into the night sky, the darkness already deep enough to hide any trace of him.

She shook her head. "Wow, you are _awful_ at keeping secrets. You're not even making this difficult."

Clark Kent was Superman. Now she was sure of it. There was nothing disputing it and just way too many coincidences that lined up into a neat little row. If she called Clark right now, she'd probably hear him make up some hasty excuse about what he'd been up to all evening. _If_ he picked up the phone at all.

The only thing left to do was properly confirm the connection.

Or derail it. Lois was prepared to accept the possibility that Clark was **not** Superman and that she had been barking up the wrong tree in a different forest entirely the whole time, but really. There was nothing to suggest that.

"I'll have you corned soon, Mr. Kent. It's only a matter of time." Lois murmured to herself, grinning in triumph.

* * *

-0-

 **A/N:** Before y'all get _too_ excited, let me explain.

My old Gateway notebook died around Thanksgiving 2017. Attached to that notebook was an external hard-drive. While waiting on my next laptop (the HP that _died_ two weeks ago), I moved everything from the hard-drive onto my mom's then-previous Dell laptop. The good news? EVERYTHING THAT WAS SAVED ALL THE WAY UP TO DEC 1, 2017 IS STILL ON THAT DELL!

Now, obviously I don't have any of the new material that was created AFTER Dec 1st, which means there's about three extra chapters missing from this story and the ending is still in its original form. But otherwise, I have (nearly) the entirety of Formation and everything right up to the end of Lightning Storm.

Fingers are still crossed that everything can be salvaged from the HP, tho. I don't fancy having to recreate/rewrite the 6 1/4 chapters of Whiplash.


	9. Chapter 9

So I got my shiny less-than-a-year-old laptop back with a brand-new hard-drive and all for less than $100 because my brother's cool like that. I'll get my money's worth out of this thing yet. That's the good news. The bad and the ugly? The old hard-drive was a lost cause. It made crunching noises and refused to do anything, so all files not backed up are gone.

What does that mean for this fic? It means that I will need to rewrite chapters 19, 25, and 26, and update the ending. Turns out chapter 24 predates Dec 1 last year, so I was delighted to find that I still had that one. And the 6 and a quarter chapters I had for the Flash sequel? Gone too. So those go back on the To Do list. Fortunately for me, I don't toss my story notes and my memory's pretty good, so this might not be too much of a struggle.

That being said... I know I've been pretty nonexistent lately. Buggy computer shit can really kill motivation and mine got stabbed. Here's the deal. I'm taking off for the month of October with the intention of getting all my notes organized, so I can make the rewrites for this story in a timely manner. Should all go well, I will resume weekly updates beginning November 5th and we'll go from there on something more closely resembling a schedule. Sound like a plan? Sounds like one to me.

* * *

Chapter Nine:

" _-_ -then she told this guy that she was dating _me_. I overheard at least half of what she said and I guess none of it was really a lie, and half the _Planet_ thinks we're dating anyways _-_ \- I-It's really not _that_ funny, Mom. You can stop laughing any time."

Martha was to the point where she was so breathless that she could barely make a sound and Johnathan was chuckling audibly in the background. Clark rolled his eyes. He wished he had more people in his life he could complain to. More sympathetic people, at least. Krypto didn't care; he was a dog. Pete and Lana wouldn't respond for at least two days and even then, they'd be giggling hysterically.

Honestly, calling his parents for advice was a mistake.

" _Clark, son..._ " Johnathan retrieved the phone from his wife's limp hand. " _I don't know what you expected us to tell you._ "

"Well, something would have been nice." Clark replied. "Not laughing so much would have been nice. I'm in a quandary over there!"

" _She's your friend. Isn't that good enough?_ " Johnathan asked. Then he shook his head. " _No, no, I get it. I've been where you're at before. Your mother and I danced around each other for at least a year before we actually took the first plunge_."

"I know, but at least you two were sure of your feelings." Clark reminded them, entering the cool shade in Planet Square.

" _And you're not?_ "

"I'm not sure of **her** feelings. Dad, I'm not about to try and push her out of her comfort zone."

" _Are you sure Lois is making sure she doesn't push_ _ **you**_ _out of your comfort zone?_ "

Any response Clark would have made caught in his throat and his jaw clicked shut. That hadn't occurred to him. He acknowledged that his dating life was pretty non-existent. Hell, he really didn't have a sex drive either _-_ \- something that would most certainly have been a deal-breaker. He saw Lois too often to even fake the image of going on regular dates. She _knew_ he didn't make his way around town with a lady on the arm.

What if she wasn't acting because she was trying to be polite and aware?

" _Son, you had one relationship in total, and she was properly crazy._ " Johnathan went on. " _When you've been burned like that, that kind of apprehension can show. Ladies like Lois are perceptive. She doesn't know any details, but she must be picking something up._ "

"I _-_ \- That didn't occur to me." Clark admitted. Lois was _very_ perceptive _-_ \- good at reading people. That kind of talent would certainly extend beyond just grilling eyewitnesses for details.

" _Give her some credit, Clark. Lois is a little rough around the edges, but she's a good person all the way down. Your mom and I saw that._ " Johnathan said. " _Still, it's a natural part of growing up, those awkward crushes._ "

"Dad..."

Johnathan muffled a snigger into his hand, but Clark heard it anyways.

" _You'll get through it, Clark, you're only twenty-four._ " he assured his son. " _Relationships are hard work, but they aren't that complicated. Just take it slow. Be sure of_ _ **yourself**_ _-_ - _"_

"Before I get involved with anyone else, I know." Clark said, nodding.

The best advice his parents knew they could offer him in terms of relationships. He was his first priority. To make sure that he was happy and in a good place with his life mentally and emotionally before he got into any potentially long-term relationships. It just wouldn't do to bring so much baggage in with him.

If he thought there was something there with Lois, it meant he would have to come clean one day.

One day.

Not today.

In his own time.

"Okay, I'm practically in the building. I've got to hang up." Clark said. He was under the awning. "I'll visit the first or second weekend next month."

" _See you then. Have a good day at work, son. Love you._ "

"You too."

He ended the call just inside the door and walked across the _Daily Planet_ 's lobby. It was a large airy interior with a three-floor atrium and fake plants. The sound of falling water was piped in _-_ \- Clark had never seen an actual source of water. The centerpiece was a large globe of the Earth that looked like a distant cousin of the Unisphere in Queens, New York.

The first three floors were really for the visitors; they rarely went higher unless it was to the observation deck on the sixtieth floor. Comfortable rooms where guests could be interviewed. Spacious meetings halls that could be rented out for a few hours. The green rooms where TV guests were kept entertained until it was their time on camera. The first three floors were what really made up the _Daily Planet_ 's warm and family-friendly atmosphere.

Unless one was taking the expess elevators, which ran the full height of building, one had to switch elevators every twenty floors. It was inconvenient for anyone who worked near the top of the building. Clark rarely caught the express elevators at this time of the morning, when everyone was arriving in mass droves and the new wave of tourists were pouring in to sidle on up to the observation deck. He slipped into one of the regular cars and patiently waited out the ride to the fifty-seventh floor.

Lois had no reaction to Clark's arrival other than her usual "Mornin' Smallville!". Nothing to suggest that last night had happened. In any case, Clark Kent wasn't to know about it.

"How was dinner with your dad?" he asked, to make conversation.

"Ugh, a disaster." Lois grunted. "I've seen some real dickery from my dad, but I never thought he'd actually go as far as to play matchmaker. But you already know about this."

 _PLAY DUMB_. Clark told himself. "I do?"

Lois's whole face frowned. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"No really, what happened?"

"Not today, Smallville. Not today."

Clark let it go and turned his attention to the in-tray. Some work mail, a memo or two, and a few of the bright yellow notecards that were marked with " _urgent email, reply soon_ ". He sorted the items and Perry gave the bellowing shout that was the summons for all general assignment reporters to converge on the conference room for the breaking news.

Perry White had been a part of the _Daily Planet_ for at least three decades and the editor-in-chief for two. Clark was unsure of his age; "fifty-something" was the common consensus. His black hair was starting to show some gray, his dark skin featured a growing network of wrinkles, but his belly paunch had shrunk in the last few months as he had started to make strides towards living better.

All in all, Perry had one of the most stressful jobs in the entire building. He was in charge of organizing the morning edition and he coordinated with the editor of the evening edition to make sure everything was running smoothly. His duties were many and varied.

He was in fine form this morning, as per the new usual. Ever since the _Daily Planet_ had started nabbing the majority of the Superman stories (thanks to Lois and Clark), paper sales and ad revenue had been spiraling to newer heights and Perry started off the day in a slightly better mood than when he'd ended the previous one. His mood was, dare Clark say it, jovial as he listed off the breaking news and sent the reporters off on their assignments.

"Hollenbeck, I need a proper follow up on that murder that happened Monday; the police are playing this one close to the chest. Go, go! Bartowski, Altenberger, building fire out in Oxbay, flames started fifteen minutes ago. Get moving!" Perry clapped his hands after the pair that sped for the door. "Lane and Kent!"

They were the last two left in the conference room as the rest of the reporters cleared out with their assignments in hand.

"I had a specific request from Meredith Furie for the pair of you." Perry told them. "She wants to set the record straight and she wants the _Daily Planet_ to do it. This is a big move for her, considering how little she talks to the press these days."

"Considering the amount of shit she's dodged in the last year, that's not a surprise." Lois commented. The press had been rather unkind to the CEO as of late. "When does she want us to swing by?"

"Any time before ten-thirty. After eleven, she'll be in a meeting 'til one. So the sooner the better." Perry explained. "Remember, she doesn't like talking to the press and she's standing inside a considerable splatter radius if this all goes wrong, so we need to do right by her and show her why she can trust the _Planet_. Make it a good one, Kent."

"Perry, ye of little faith!" Lois cried in mock outrage.

"You have a congenital dislike for CEOs, Lois."

Los shrugged. She couldn't argue that.

They gathered their things and headed back down the elevator. Such was the daily life of a press reporter. The morning was spent doing the rounds and gathering the information. The afternoon was devoted to cranking out the columns. Clark could count on his fingers the number of times he had actually spent the morning inside. Rain, snow, sleet, and hail didn't stop the mail or any reporter who was partnered to Lois Lane.

They were back on the D-line train, riding into the business district. Last night, Lois had written up a list of questions for the Atlas Industries CEO. Most of them were still relevant, she hoped.

"Why us?" she asked out loud.

"Hmm?" Clark barely looked up from checking his own list of questions.

"Us. The _Daily Planet_. You and me." Lois elaborated. "Trust Perry when he says Ms. Furie doesn't like the press. Most of the CEOs in this city give interviews on the regular, even Luthor, but Ms. Furie hasn't sat for one in two years."

"Her friend gave us a good review?" Clark guessed, remembering the distantly paranoid demeanor of Barry Allen.

"Possibly."

Probably, more like. Ms. Furie had a life-time of dealing with the press, between her deceased father and actress mother, so she had seen the good and the bad. She could judge it for herself, but preferred recommendations first and foremost. Barry Allen seemed like the judgy friend who side-eyed everything and didn't make a move until he was sure about what he was doing. If he had declared them "all good", then Ms. Furie was probably taking him at his word.

The train dropped them at the Atlas Plaza station, several blocks north of some of the most prolific companies in the city (Wayne Enterprises, Kord Tech, Queen Consolidated). There was a stainless steel sculpture of Atlas with the world on his shoulders and his chest bore the outline of a mostly scrubbed off S.

Unlike the LexCorp building (which was a monument to a man's ego) or the Future World building (which was pretentious, frankly, and still smoldering a little), the Atlas Industries building was an example of the clean straight lines that Metropolis was known for. The city had never quite grown out of Art Deco as its primary inspiration.

In the wake of yesterday's somewhat disastrous press conference, reporters from different outlets were hovering around outside the building while security stood by the doors and looked stern. The news-hungry vultures made ugly squawking noises when Lois and Clark brandished their press badges and got through the doors with nary a word on their part. Lois just smiled Grinchily as they walked to the executive elevator past the security desk.

"Hmm, I feel a little special that we're the only ones being allowed up." Lois commented, gazing around the posh-looking elevator as they were ferried up to the fortieth floor. Jazzy swing music was being piped from a speaker in the corner. "What do you think that says?"

"That the _Daily Planet_ won't slander her name and twist her words." Clark replied.

"Yeah, can't say that's our style."

Meredith Furie was waiting for them on the fortieth floor lobby. Her eyes were a warm honey-brown and her long chestnut-brown hair was styled loosely over her shoulders in waves. She wore a sharply cut suit tailored to her curves and a pencil skirt that flattered her waist and hips. She wasn't a built woman, but she was tall and commanding while still looking feminine and a touch sensual. For a second, Lois felt her eyes slide down the gentle curve of the woman's hip, but she yanked her gaze back up. Now was not the time to be admiring anything.

"Ms. Furie, thank you for seeing us." Lois said, approaching with a hand outstretched. "Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_. This is Clark Kent."

"Hello." Clark greeted.

"I know. I let you up because I trust the integrity of the _Daily Planet_ staff. Or rather, I trust my friend's opinion. And I hope my trust will not be misplaced." Ms. Furie said.

"Never." Lois assured her. "If it means anything to you, I will send you the final draft to proofread before I turn in it."

"Good. We can talk in my office." Ms. Furie said, beckoning for them to follow.

The executive office of Atlas Industries was half the size of Future World's and not even half as creepy. Contemporary styling and inoffensive neutral tones with track lighting. A long corner desk and very big windows on two walls that slanted inwards just slightly. The plants were real; there was the scent of damp earth and flowers in the air. The flat-screen television mounted on the wall was on mute. There was a small glass-topped conference table that seated only six. Another door led off from the office into a proper conference room.

Ms. Furie directed them to sit down at the small table and she took her accustomed place at the head, lacing her fingers together.

"Where would you like me to start, Ms. Lane?" she asked.

"I'm recording this, to start." Lois announced, activating the recording app on her phone. "Now, to begin. You've been implicated in the theft of six predator drones and the bombing of Future World Industries. You've also been implicated in last year's plot to destroy Metropolis simply because it's your face in the photo. Supposedly, at least. What do you say to that?"

"It's bullcrap." Ms. Furie said plainly.

"Can I quote you directly?" Lois hoped.

"Please do." Furie nodded.

"Why is it bullcrap?" Clark asked.

"I know where I was the night of that LexCorp theft." Ms. Furie replied. "I was in Gotham to discuss a possible partnership with Drake Industries. They were holding an investors ball. I have at least ten reliable witnesses who can place me there for several hours and my hotel could confirm that I never left after returning to my room. Additionally, Gotham and Metropolis are almost nine hundred miles apart."

"You would have to have been in two places at once if they thought you could make that theft while schmoozing up the board members." Lois deduced. "Kent and I have theorized that this accusation is an attempt to discredit you. Your company is in negotiations with a Japanese tech company that could be very beneficial."

Ms. Furie nodded. "Negotiations are stalled for the moment." she said. "Should the contract go through, it would allow us to begin expanding overseas without too much worry that the competition would shoot us down. I do fear this is a derailment attempt. When I talked to the police, they seemed to have a very difficult time getting their heads around the fact that I have a twin sister."

"A likely story. The police aren't known for using Occam's Razor." Lois muttered. "Now we did talk to your friend yesterday and we have some background on the relationship between you and your sister. Basically, was it really bad as all that?"

Ms. Furie shrugged. "More or less."

"What happened between you and her?" Clark asked.

Ms. Furie spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "Nothing I could have helped, I don't think." she said. "When I was thirteen, I came out to my family as a lesbian. My parents weren't terribly surprised, but Hannah... In the finest display of homophobia I have ever witnessed, Hannah lost her shit and declared I was no longer her sister. If anything, it started there."

"Do you believe your sister might be trying to destroy your reputation?" Lois wondered. "She has the perfect means of doing it. All she has to do is walk into the strip clubs, say she's you in a wig, and proceed to pole-dance."

Ms. Furie thought for a moment. "I had very little to do with Hannah after she outed me in front of the entire seventh grade class. I'm not certain she'd go through this much trouble, since it also means destroying the company along with me."

"But do you think she might be capable?" Lois pressed.

"I have no idea what my sister might be capable of these days." Ms. Furie admitted. "I understand why she would be after me, but Atlas Industries was our father's company. Hannah was very much Daddy's little girl and this company is part of his legacy. I don't understand why she would damage it. The last I saw of her, however, she was keeping strange company."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Clark asked.

"Our nineteenth birthday, which was also our high school graduation. Or _my_ graduation." Ms. Furie corrected. "Hannah ran away from home a few weeks beforehand. She wasn't going to graduate anyways. Her grades were too poor."

"So you two talked?" Lois asked.

"Not as such." Ms. Furie said, making a hesitant expression. "She had only come back to collect a few of her belongings. I tried to ask her where she'd been, because Mom and Dad were worried out of their minds for her. She said she wouldn't live with my gay anymore and then shrieked slurs until I left. All in all, I'd say it lasted about a minute. I would say that yesterday was the first time I saw her in five years, but I didn't actually see her."

Lois and Clark exchanged wincing looks. It was hard enough for gays and lesbians and otherwise to find acceptance in the world. Being turned out by friends was hard, but having your own family turn against you was something else entirely. Even if it was only one family member, but a twin sister?

"We know about the gang, but your friend wasn't the most forthcoming." Clark said.

Ms. Furie smiled. "Don't mind Barry too much. He's pretty much the Mom Friend." she said. She frowned. "Or the Dad Friend. Which one is more prone to the bad jokes and terrible puns?"

"In my experience, the Dad Friend." Lois replied.

"It's good to have a friend like that." Clark said. "Can you elaborate a little more about the strange company your sister was keeping? That may have had something to do with her running away."

"It probably had everything to do with her running away." Ms. Furie pondered over the five year old memories for a moment. "When I saw her after graduation, her boyfriend Matt was there. I remember him from high school. He was one of the quiet ones."

"It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for." Lois quipped.

Ms. Furie smiled faintly. "He didn't strike me as the type my sister would have dated. Hannah liked the athletes, all the strong confident types. Matt was none of that. I remember hearing him complaining about his grades from time to time. Hannah would always reassure him that the teachers just didn't understand how smart he was."

"Did you ever meet her shady friends?" Lois asked.

"She brought them home a few times, but Dad banned them from from the property. He thought they were stealing the silverware." Ms. Furie said. "I remember Lance, obviously. And Matt was a part of it too. Victor, he was the oldest. There was only one other girl. I want to say her name was 'Emily', but I don't think that's right... And two others I think, but I don't think they went to Central High."

"Alright, Hannah's our linchpin in this, it looks like." Lois mused thoughtfully. "You said it your birthday and graduation the last time you saw her. Did anything else strange happen that day?"

Ms. Furie gave them an incredulous look. "Yes, my party was attacked and my father was killed."

The two reporters winced again.

"Sorry, that slipped my mind." Lois admitted.

"I can requistion a copy of the police file for you and a copy of my father's autopsy report, if you think you can stomach that." Ms. Furie said, reaching for the pens and the post-it notes in the middle of the table. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Just to summarize, having a twin sister means your face can be in two places at once."

"That's the long and short of it." Ms. Furie agreed, jotting a set of numbers on the post-it. She peeled it off and handed it to Lois. "If you need to get in touch with me for any follow-up questions, you can contact me at this number. My email is on the company letterhead."

"That would be perfect." Lois turned off the recorder. "Well then, thank you for your time, Ms. Furie."

"Thank you for listening." Ms. Furie said, shaking hands with them.

She chivvied them out the door politely, but quickly. She had to get to work on salvaging her company's reputation, preparing statements and collecting the evidence that would exonerate her. And she had a very important meeting in an hour.

Lois and Clark took the elevator back down to the ground floor and left the building.

"Okay Smallville, initial thoughts?" Lois inquired.

"Still working from the angle that Hannah Furie may be attempting to discredit her sister." Clark stated. From where he was standing, it was the most likely motivation.

"That seems to sum up what we're dealing with." Lois agreed. She glanced down at the contact number Ms. Furie had given her. "Aw man, she saw me oogling her. She gave me her personal number. You know I'm bi, right?"

"I did sort of figure that out on my own." Clark said.

"Yeah..." Lois pocketed the number anyways. "Makes me feel just a little bad for what we're doing tonight."

A little shiver went up Clark's spine. "What are we doing tonight?"

"The same thing we do every night, Smallville. Try to save the world." Lois let out a small cackle. "The plan was never canceled, just postponed. Meet me back here at midnight tonight and make sure you're wearing your running shoes."

She jogged ahead of him before Clark could inquire exactly what she meant by wanting him to wear his running shoes.

* * *

Despite his misgivings, Clark was at the Atlas Plaza at midnight, wearing his running shoes. He had a terrible feeling that he knew what Lois was planning to do. He had an even worse feeling that he wouldn't be able to talk her out of it.

He tried not to look like a malingerer as he waited for Lois to turn up, deliberately hiding away from the station lights and huddling into his hoodie (the night temps dropped to just this side of chilly). No matter the time of year, this part of the city went pretty quiet this late at night. The business district wasn't known for its hopping night life. Some towers were half-lit with the late shift, the delivery drivers making their rounds when it was easier to get through the streets, and then you had the weirdoes who only came out after dark.

 _And Lois Lane, who can't be up to any good tonight and is dragging me into it. Why didn't I say 'no'?_ Clark wondered.

Okay, granted, he had to keep up a facade of being meek and a little spineless. Plain, boring and as vanilla as hell, especially now that "Superman" was out there and such a public face to boot. But that didn't mean bowing to everything Lois requested of him. He had to show a little spine here and there so people didn't start assuming his middle name was "Doormat".

But it was just hard to say 'no' when she looked at him with those big sparkling eyes. Especially now with that memory of starlight in her eyes and the look of pure joy on her face, her hair flying in the night breeze and she had looked so radiant, weightless and free _-_ -

Clark hunched into his hoodie, eyes widening. _Oh no... She's cute..._ He realized with an uncomfortable stirring in his gut. _She was really cute... Really beautiful... Holy crap... Oh no no no no..._

 _I'm crushing on her..._

He had already accepted the fact that he was feeling something for her, but this clinched it. He had full-blown crush on Lois Lane. His parents were going to exchange meaningful looks and giggle until it was beyond embarrassing.

But she was completely inaccessible. Dating was absolutely out of the question and not just because of the whole alien-thing. Because if he kept up this hero business, he was likely to make enemies. And he couldn't drag anyone else into what were probably going to be his problems. Heroes always made enemies and the enemies always went after the heroes' weakest points: their loved ones. He would hate himself if he endangered her like that.

This crush so had to die.

Like, _now_.

"Hey, Smallville."

Especially **now**.

Lois came around in front of him, looking surprisingly fetching with a dark knit cap pulled low over her hair and it didn't help the crush die. She looked him up and down, from his hunched shoulders and wide eyes and down his rigid posture.

"Smallville, are you okay?" she asked.

"Just a little chillier out here than I thought it would be." he fibbed. Oh god, did his voice just crack?

"Don't worry, Old Man Winter. You'll melt soon enough." Lois fished something out of her coat pocket. "I think a little B'n'E will get your blood moving again. Well, there's no breaking involved, technically."

Clark realized she was holding an Atlas Industries security badge.

"Lois, did you steal that?" he asked faintly. Right off a security guard, the crazy woman!

" _Borrowed_ it." she corrected, walking to the front doors of Atlas Industries.

"But you took it without asking." Clark pointed it, quickly following her. "That's usually the definition of stealing."

"We just need it to get in and access the system. Stealing implies no intent to return it. I'll leave it on the secretary's desk before we go." Lois assured him, waving the badge over the scanner by the door. The badge itself hadn't been locked out of the system yet, so the door opened without an issue.

Lois Lane was up to absolutely no good tonight and she was not going to be talked out of it. No one talked Mad Dog Lane out of an idea once she had gotten it into her head. The most Clark could do now was make sure they both got out of this without being arrested.

They hopped the turnstiles and took the elevator up to the fifty-first floor. Clark kept his ears sharp, but security didn't seem to be on the job tonight. The badge got them quietly through another locked door.

"Where are we?" Clark asked.

"Server room. The nerve center of the entire building." Lois answered, striding immediately over to the two access computers. "Every piece of data gets saved right here."

She started to boot up the computers.

"We are going to get arrested." Clark predicted. How could they not? They were accessing what was definitely a secure server, from the inside. Stolen a security badge with a high-level of access. He was sure they would be in less trouble if they had been looking for an adventurous place to make out.

His record was only squeaky clean on American soil. He wasn't going to bring up the Russian gulag any time soon.

Fully running, both computers put up a command window instructing Lois to swipe the badge on the reader. She did so for both readers and the system welcomed Grant McMillian with his Level Eight access. The system allowed only two duplicate badges to be registered. It was a loophole in the security in case someone was locked out of the system accidentally.

"Pull up a chair, Smallville, and get to browsing." Lois instructed. She cracked her knuckles. "Let's see what's coming out of Ms. Furie's computer."

Clark scanned the access menu and selected the accounting files. Any hints of suspicious activity was more than likely to crop up in the company's finances first. If Ms. Furie was dealing under the table, it would reflect in the company's numbers when sums failed to add up.

When in doubt, follow the numbers.

Going year by year, it didn't take him long to see a pattern.

"Atlas Industries is going bankrupt." Clark realized.

"Are they?" Lois tore her eyes off what she was reading. "Are you sure?"

Clark nodded. "My parents manage the farm's finances by themselves so I picked up a few things from them." he said. "This record goes back as far as 2002. Before Gregor Furie died, the numbers were strong. But after his death, there was a two-month transitional period where everything was on hold until Ms. Furie was oriented. During that time, stocks fell and several investors pulled out. The numbers have been dropping ever since. "

Lois cringed. "Look at that stock, they couldn't sell that for _beans_." She turned back to her computer and typed something into the search bar. "Okay, here we go. Several corresponding weekly reports from the desk of Meredith Furie..."

"Six thousand employees per branch were laid off in the past two years." Clark reported, reading on. "They're hemorrhaging money faster than they can replace it. In another year, it looks like, they'll be dead in the water."

"Yeah, they've lost almost all their contracts. CyGen pulled out... Oh, Future World turned them down before opening remarks. Motive." Lois chirped. She continued to skim the report. "Wow, they're auctioning off their entire Applied Sciences division."

"It doesn't seem to be helping." Clark said, peering at the July finance report. The graph painted a grim picture and the notes that explained things in plain English basically poured blood all over that picture.

He moved off the accounting records and into the Applied Sciences files. They were sparse; just a brief description of the project and which company it had been sold to and for how much. A receipt, really.

Atlas Industries had been cooking up some very interesting stuff in Applied Sciences. Stuff that could have changed things if they had gotten into production phase. Hydrogen converters for cars, advanced artificial limbs, sonar mapping for the blind, something involving less invasive procedures to restore hearing loss, holographic display technology (which was in the middle of a fierce bidding war) and...

"The predator drones. Lois, the drones stolen from LexCorp were based on specs developed by Atlas Industries. They had to sell the specs when the military cancelled their contract. LexCorp bought them, along with the specs for the ultra-sonic device that killed Mr. Furie."

Lois's face turned a little whiter in the screen's pale glow as she leaned over his shoulder to read for herself. Sure enough, the specs for the predator drones and the ultra-sonic device were listed as having been bought by LexCorp over two years ago.

"If it's really Meredith and not Hannah, she could be trying to take back what was originally hers." the dark-haired woman suggested slowly. "Or the twins are really working together. This **is** their father's company, after all."

"But they wouldn't make it so easy to trace the evidence back to them." Clark pointed out. "Something like this... Ms. Furie would have it wiped from the system before it could damage her innocence."

"So we're back to supposing that someone's trying to set her up?" Lois raised an eyebrow. At this point, this whole thing could go either way. Either Ms. Furie was being set up by her sister as part of an effort to bring down the company, or the twins were working together to discredit their competition. But why would they risk losing a critical overseas contract?

Or maybe even someone was working **through** Hannah to bring down Atlas Industries, playing Meredith like a triangle by making her think her estranged sister was at the middle of this.

"Hang on, I'm going to see what they wanted with Future World-" Lois started, but Clark's hands flashed out and turned off both monitors.

"Someone's coming." he whispered.

Security was making its rounds.

Lois abandoned the chair immediately.

They hurried to hide among the server towers, but they didn't get past the second row before the lock disengaged. Clark pulled Lois to his chest and he might have moved a little faster than normal to drag them both behind the bulk of a server tower and out of sight, just in time for the door to open.

Three people entered and the lights snapped on, bright and glaring for the first few seconds.

" _-_ -need to upload the virus first, so just gimme a minute on that." requested a woman's voice. It sounded startlingly familar to Lois.

"December's sure this is gonna tear this bitch down?" asked a man's voice. "I mean, we been working on her for years."

"It'll get the landslide started, Damon. Don't worry." said a second man. "Once we plant the evidence, that bitch Meredith is coming down hard."

Clark slapped a hand over Lois's mouth when she started to hiss in outrage. This wasn't security. These were their suspects. The twins weren't working together. Someone was trying to bring down Atlas Industries through Hannah because of the twin thing.

Someone named December.

Lois would bet her entire next paycheck that it was December Mannheim.

Someone sure was trying to bring down the competition.

"These computers are already on." the woman noticed suspiciously.

"Someone was here. I think they're still here." said the man identified as Damon.

Underneath Clark's arms, Lois shivered a little. He felt her shift her weight, like she was preparing to either run or fight. Clark peered over his glasses and around the room, through the server towers. There was only one door out, he realized in dismay, and it was behind them. Getting out was going to involve making a break for it.

 _I might have to put on a little extra speed._ Clark thought. From the current stand-point, super-speed was the best option. _Answering all those questions is going to be small potatoes compared to not getting out of here in one piece._

If these were the same people who were responsible for the attack on Future World Industries, pinning the blame on Atlas Industries, it meant they didn't care too much if human life counted among the collateral damage. They might not even think twice about tossing him and Lois out the window.

Lois patted his arm and Clark realized his hand was still covering her mouth. He quickly withdrew it and she turned her head until their eyes met. She made a small gesture to the right, where the path between the server towers was more hidden than the one on the left. She was suggesting that they head deeper into the room and circle back around. They might get lucky.

Okay, trying to super-speed their way out would be the last resort.

Clark unclasped his arms from her shoulders and let her lead the way.

They didn't get far. Something tipped the perpetrators off as to the two reporters location. No matter how many times he ran the scenario over in his head, Clark couldn't figure out where they had slipped up. Just that one of the intruders leapt straight over the server towers and landed lightly in the row beside them.

"You!" Lois shouted angrily for no reason Clark could discern, pointing a finger sharply at the other man.

He was very pale with black hair and a knee-length leather trench coat, the front of which was open to reveal more black clothing. Fairly slender and not particularly formidable-looking, but there was a reason Lois was pissed at the very sight of him. He lunged forward and _-_ -

 _-_ -disappeared into the shadow of a server tower.

"What?" Clark gaped.

"He didn't do that last time." Lois whispered.

The pale man re-emerged from the shadow of the tower closest to Clark not a second later. Clark was just barely in time to bring his hands up, thanks to his ability to preceive things faster than a human.

The pale man hit with him the speed of a runaway freight train and all the strenth thereof. But with Lois standing right there, Clark's first instinct was just to brace himself and hope he didn't break any of the man's bones.

It didn't slow him down in the slightest. The pale man propelled both himself and Clark right across the floor at a frankly impossible speed. Clark thought vaguely to dig his heels in as the man pushed him across it. At the speed the man was moving, a sudden stop would just flip him over.

He didn't get the chance to act on that _-_ \- it was just a vague thought _-_ \- before he felt glass shatter under his back and then open air behind him. Then the pale man was shoving him out the window.

" _Clark_!" Lois squawked in horror as her co-worker just _-_ \- dropped out of sight in a shower of glass.

A presence loomed behind her and Lois whipped around with her fists ready. Unlike Clark, she had some fifteen years of self-defense under her belt. Metropolis had its fair share of lowlives, so her skills and instincts were still sharp.

She came face to face with the second man. He was a little skinnier than the first, with a pointed chin and sand-brown hair. And he was just as familiar.

"Hey there, Sir Pointy Chin. It hasn't been long enough." she said. "How've you been since you got beaten up by a pack of twelve-year olds? Gloomy, hanging in there?"

And that was all the banter she let happen before she swung out with one booted foot. Quicker than the eye could see, Pointy Chin's hand flew out and caught her ankle and then yanked her off her remaining foot.

She yelped at the sudden disorientation and the way the world spun briefly, her hands banging into the floor. She looked up, startled. Point Chin was holding her ankle with one hand and no apparent strain _-_ \- she weighed something like one hundred and thirty pounds. Pointy Chin didn't look strong enough to be holding her like this without at least two hands.

"No orders this time." Pointy Chin said. He sounded very happy about this. "Matt was right. Just easier to kill you and be done with it."

Then he swung his arm and heaved Lois towards the same broken window that Clark had fallen out of.

 _Oh wow, he is strong._

She was less worried this time about falling, since it was not going to be to her death. Because if she was still on the right track, then Superman was _very close by_. And sure enough, there he was swooping up to catch her before she passed four floors. Gravity seemed to lessen in his immediate vicinity and Lois landed in his outstretched arms as lightly as a feather.

"Hello Miss Lane." Superman said, grinning broadly. "Fancy meeting you here at five hundred feet."

"Hah... Hi." Lois breathed. Still breath-taking the hundreth time around. "Oh, this embarrassing." she groaned, a humiliated feeling washing over her. "I'm sure you've probably got better things to do than catch me falling off buildings. Getting cats out of trees and stuff."

"Just don't plan to make a habit out of this." Superman admonished, carrying her towards the ground.

"Don't worry. I'm not one for basing jumping without a parachute." Lois commented. "Omigod, Clark! _-_ -"

"Don't worry, I caught him." Superman assured her. "He's fine, just a little shaken."

"Oh." Lois was a little disheartened by that response. "Well..."

Superman frowned.

"Oh god, get that frowny look off your face and stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about." Lois snapped impatiently.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Lane."

 _You piece of fuck, I'll get this out of you one day._

Superman landed on the pavement just outside the Atlas Plaza and let Lois slip out of his arms.

"As much as I don't mind catching you, you really should stop finding yourself in the position where you get thrown out a window." he said.

"Absolutely no promises whatsoever." Lois said, offering up a three-fingered salute.

Superman gave her a look like _'No I mean it'_ , but Lois never made a promise she wasn't sure she was going to keep. She had been shot at, beaten up, attacked with knives and there had been many other various attempts to deal her bodily harm over the course of her career so far. Getting thrown out windows was probably just the next step up.

Superman flew off and Lois waited for Clark to get back, planning to offer some coffee and comfort food as an apology for this little misadventure. They had a lot to talk about.

* * *

-0-

also, that transformers bumblebee movie that's coming out? they took a hard right into the g1 portion of the franchise. i might just have to go see it.

and robin!jason todd in the upcoming Titans tv show? 1st time i know of since the 80s where jason's actually been robin in real time and not flashbacks.


	10. Chapter 10

Updating today, not the 5th. Not doing something like that right before the midterm elections. Vote, my fellow colonial heathens. There's a lot riding on this one.

I got about two-thirds the way through my October writing goals, as in, I didn't finish chapter 26. I got stuck and then I got... consumed by other ideas. It happens. I'm used to it. I'm giving NaNoWriMo a more spirited shot this year, so I'm probably going to lurk more than usual.

* * *

Chapter Ten:

Martin LeBeau walked out of jail thanks to a decent lawyer and a rotten judge.

Crooked judges were hard to find in a city like this one. Metropolis had always been too straight and narrow, believing in the integrity of the law and upholding justice. It was like there was a tacit agreement between law enforcement and the court system to either out-do or be an example to its sister city Gotham. But when you ran in the same circles as Martin LeBeau, it wasn't difficult to find a judge who could swayed by a couple hundred dollars, nor was it difficult to find a lawyer who was as blood-sucking as they came.

So despite de-frauding several construction companies out of thousands of dollars, LeBeau walked the same day of his appeal.

(Miss Goldie Gates, the other person who had tried to de-fraud the growing West River, hadn't been so lucky. She had gotten Judge Hilton, the straightest shooter in the entire court system. She was looking at five years up at Stryker's Women.)

LeBeau had spent the week living an apartment he was renting from a friend who owed him a favor or two, and simply enjoying his freedom. Even just nine weeks in jail was enough to make a man appreciate the simple comfort of not showering under supervision.

The package arrived less than an hour after he'd become a free man. It had contained a brand-new phone and instructions to text a code to a number that LeBeau suspected was a throw-away. He had texted the code and within five minutes, he had received details about a job suited for a man of his talents and needs. The number remained blocked, which naturally made LeBeau suspicious. He didn't like communicating with people who with-held their names. He wouldn't have survived as long as he did without having a healthy dose of suspicion.

But the promised payment was enticing. More money that he would have made knocking over construction companies.

His new client was obviously a man of means.

One didn't upset the men of means.

The second text had come after he'd accepted the offer, giving him a time and a location and a brief description of the item his client wanted him to retrieve. He had a week to get everything in order that needed to be put in order. The item was to be stolen late Friday night and delivered to the drop point before dawn. The method of retrieving the item was left up to him, but discretion was advised.

There came no other texts after that, but LeBeau needed no more instructions. He prided himself on being automous and acting independently. He had been contacted due to his reliability when it came to getting the job done.

Nonetheless, when it came to breaking and entering and other forms of sneaking around, LeBeau was man enough to admit that he wasn't the best. His tactics had always been forward charges and brute force.

So early Friday evening (as Lois Lane made plans to sneak into Atlas Industries with Clark as her accomplice), LeBeau made his way up the streets of Metrodale. It was a vile neighborhood in many respects. The streets were lined terraced houses that seemed to sag into one another, in such states of disrepair that they would have ached something terrible if they'd been living beings. Windows were boarded over and porches were barred and locked. Bricks had fallen out of the walls and the dusty paint was peeling off the outsides in great swathes. There were many properties that were up for sale or for rent, but many more were just empty. LeBeau could hear rattling air conditioners desperately trying to cool the interior of the houses. If not air conditioners, then box window fans struggling to do the same.

Here and there, children sat on the steps and sweated, some bearing the look that suggested they had been ordered to go outside, but also had nowhere else to go. LeBeau couldn't help eyeball them cautiously. In his experience, Metrodale's children came in one of two flavors. Either they were affliated with a gang and knew when they were supposed to keep their mouths shut, or they were talkative little whippersnappers with no sense of self-preservation and no one bothered to teach them when to shut up. And they were typically the children who hung around their doorsteps, waiting for something interesting to happen.

Frankly, LeBeau didn't trust children until they were thirteen. By then, they knew staying quiet was good for their health.

Metrodale was the last proper haven of crime in the City of Tomorrow. It wouldn't do to have _anyone_ mouthing off.

LeBeau's destination was a house once painted fire-engine red, but now it was more of a rusty blood-like color. Its front porch was filthy with leaves shed from the nearby tree, having not been cleaned off in several years. He went up the front steps carefully. He remembered, the last time he was here, that one of the steps had been missing a support and therefore had wobbled quite alarmingly. On the next porch over sat one of those little buggers that LeBeau disliked so much.

The little weedy boy had unfortunate red hair and quite an infestation of freckles all over his face and down his limbs and a chinky sort of look around his eyes. His legs were skinned and scraped between his knees and his ankles, as if he had taken a bad fall. Recently, as the scabbing still looked quite fresh. His eyes tracked LeBeau's progress up the steps.

"What you lookin' at, you little bastard?" he snarled, his New York accent coming through thickly.

The kid hastily looked away and busied himself with dabbing at his skinned legs with a damp cloth (probably because his mother wasn't around to do it for him). LeBeau nodded to himself and reached up to knock on the door. This was the current home of the Miller brothers.

The Miller brothers were a pair of twins identical down to the very placement of every freckle. They weren't terribly handsome, sporting large overbites and bushy eyebrows enhanced by a jutting brow-line and a sloping forehead. Their shoulders hunched forward to round off the image of temporally-displaced cavemen.

He didn't know which one of them answered the door. LeBeau had never quite bothered to learn their names; he was never able to tell them apart anyways, no matter how often he had worked with them. He was usually able to keep track which side the brothers stood on. The elder twin usually stood on a person's right while the younger hovered on the left.

"Hey, hey, it's one of my favorite pals!" LeBeau crowed.

"Marty!" Miller the Elder face broke into a huge grin. "C'mere, ya little shit!"

The big, burly man clamped LeBeau into a spine-cracking hug and half-dragged him across the threshold into the slightly dingy house. It smelled like dry-rot and unwashed laundry. A television played loudly in the background and there was a heavy thud of footsteps as Miller brother number two hurried over to see what the noise was about.

"Hey! It's Marty!"

LeBeau was released from one brother to be swept up by the other. The second hug was just as spine-cracking. This was the only thing LeBeau didn't like about the Miller brothers. They were strong and they hugged indiscriminately. And they knew how strong they were, but they still hugged indiscriminately.

"They let you walk?" Miller the Younger inquired, looking the smaller man up and down. "You got busted for fraud. That's a good five-ten years in this town."

LeBeau shrugged. "I had a good lawyer and a worse judge."

Miller the Elder thumped him on the back and laughed. "Those are two types that are hard to find! C'mon, we got some beer in the cooler. Have one and get off your feet, enjoy your freedom! How long have you been out?"

"A week already. I been laying low." LeBeau said. "I also got a job. An' I want your help."

The twins shared a look, long and questioning, then they nodded to each other. LeBeau allowed himself to be led into the living room. If nothing else, the Miller twins prided themselves on being hospitable to their favorite guests. Extreme motor-cross was being broadcast on the television and there was pizza on the couch, a cooler of decent micro-brew on the floor. The twins chivvied him onto the couch and made him get comfortable before they let him talk some more.

"So what's this job you got?" Miller the Elder inquired.

"It's a good deal an' you boys look like you ain't got your hands on some real dough in a while." LeBeau observed. The brothers didn't appear to be hurting for money, but if they were down to renting one of the squalid Metrodale homes rather than one of the nicer places south or east, then they weren't doing as well as they would have preferred.

"Business been moving out." Miller the Younger admitted, throwing an empty can into the bin. "Ever since Superman rolled in, all the usuals dried up. No one wants to do business in a town where a guy can see through walls."

"Yeah, dude calls the police with tips like every day." the other twin added, shaking his head in dismay.

"Then I can getcha the hell outta dodge. Fifteen grand, each. That's just to start. I can go higher." LeBeau offered. His client was dishing out exactly five million for the item; two million up front and the rest upon delivery. LeBeau was starting to wish he knew exactly what the client wanted, if the man was willing to put out so much money for it. But discretion had kept LeBeau alive.

"How high?" Miller the Younger asked.

"How high you wantin'?"

Miller the Younger gave him a discerning side-eye while his twin tapped his fingers on the pizza box. Neither twin looked at each other, but in silences like these, LeBeau always had the feeling they were communicating somehow.

"Six hundred thousand in total." Miller the Younger said at last.

"You boys got some plans?" LeBeau wondered. That was a pretty hefty sum, even for the brothers. They were cautious about accepting large sums of money, as it took a while to launder it through legitimate businesses.

"Yeah, we've been eyeballing some sweet real estate on the Gulf Coast. Ten grand on the down payment." Miller the Elder explained, grinning in anticipation. "Time to get the hell outta Metropolis anyhow."

"Ahem." LeBeau agreed. He took his new phone out and tapped in a series of instructions. He was pulling money out of his bank account and transferring it to the brothers'. "Three hundred thousand up front. It'll be viable in twenty-four hours."

Miller the Elder blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously paying you an advance." LeBeau nodded.

The twins grinned at each other and leaned forward with greater interest.

"So what we helpin' you swipe, Marty?" Miller the Elder wondered.

"I don't actually know, but you know how that works." LeBeau said, shrugging. "Now I got an inside man so don't worry about the methods of getting in. I'm just worried about the security. That's why I want you two boys. Tonight, we're breaking into S.T.A.R. Labs."

Miller the Younger whistled. "Tall order. They got some weird crap up there."

"Yeah, could be anything you after." Miller the Elder said.

"Don' worry, we ain't goin' after anything alive. We just need a van or a truck and we're golden." LeBeau explained. "Like I said, I got an inside man. He'll get us into the store room and back out. It's the security that might come after us if we get caught in the act. I don' want a fire-fight or... y'know, _Superman_."

The twins nodded in agreement. Superman had been making things difficult for legitimate criminal business. He didn't actively bust their chops, but he tipped off the police to the hotspots. It was hard to do business when the police came knocking on the door with the observations of "concerned citizens" and stuck around keeping an eye on things. The police in this town couldn't be bribed or otherwise bought off. They believed too hard in law and justice and order to let a few twenty dollar bills distract them.

"So your man can get us in?" Miller the Elder asked.

"Wouldn't have asked if he couldn't. He owes me a favor." LeBeau confirmed. "Now we ain't gotta roll out for another couple of hours, so what say we just chill until then?"

"Hell, sounds good to me." Miller the Younger settled back into the couch cushions comfortably and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when it's time for us to go."

LeBeau settled back as well with another slice of pizza and chewed it with great relish. He had spent much of his adult life so far scraping out a living in fraud scams. It had actually been rather fun watching how many people he could dupe out of their money.

But now there was Superman and his little reporter girlfriend nosing their way into all sorts of places and causing trouble for everyone. It wasn't worth it to keep running scams when a town had people like them running around.

One more job here for LeBeau and by Monday, he would be five million dollars richer and living on a warmer coastline where no Superman could find him.

* * *

S.T.A.R. Labs was the mecca for egghead scientists around the world. It had been founded by three of the biggest eggheads in recent history, who had decided that there needed to exist a laboratory that was unaffiliated with any business or with the military. It was their mission statement, that they would never align themselves with any single cause.

S.T.A.R. Labs existed for the betterment of all mankind, not just a small fraction of it.

At sixty-five thousand square feet, the Metropolis facility was the smallest of the existing three, but it was only a relative term in comparison to the Central and San Francisco branches. The total square footage didn't include the parking lots or the out-buildings or the undeveloped empty lots.

Miller the Elder whistled lowly.

"This something else." he commented.

"Bet people get lost in here all the time the first couple days." Miller the Younger agreed. "Where are we goin', Marty?"

"The loading docks on the west side of the facility." LeBeau answered, holding the map out in front of him so he didn't have to take his eyes off the twisting street in front of him.

"Are we there yet?" Miller the Elder wondered dryly.

"Shut up."

The three were crammed into the front seat of a pick-up truck, the brothers trying their best not to bump the driver, while the driver tried to figure out exactly how to get to the loading docks from the south entrance. LeBeau was starting to wish that he'd had the chance to drive through the complex during the day, but a visitor's pass wouldn't have gotten him very far. Security patrolled up and down the access roads, making sure that no one was trying to get where they weren't supposed to be. The entrances were guarded during the day and locked with gates and spike strips at night, save for just one. They'd had to sneak through when the guard had gone on a coffee break.

The complex did come with helpful directional signs, but LeBeau was the cautious type. The headlights were off for this sneaking mission.

Miller the Younger plucked the map from LeBeau and flicked on the smart-phone screen to better examine the hand-drawn lines that wobbled around nigh-illegible handwriting. He looked up at the road ahead, where they were coming to an intersection. Without the headlights to ruin their night-vision, it was much easier to get a good look at their surroundings. He could read the road signs fairly easily.

"Turn right." he said.

LeBeau glanced at him. "You sure?"

"We're heading north. A left turn's just going to take us back to the road outside. The closer we get to the building, the more likely we are to spot the loading docks." Miller the Younger explained.

"Yeah, sure..." LeBeau said it like he didn't believe a word, but he turned right nonetheless.

"And your man has terrible handwriting." Miller the Younger added.

"Yeah, he was a nervous bastard." LeBeau agreed. "But he's one of them desperate types, y'know? Stuck in a rut, don't know how to get out. Throw enough money at him and he'll bark like a dog."

"Those bastards are the best kind." Miller the Elder said, watching out the windows for any sign of their destination. "Gotta be careful they don't squeal, though. One squeak from them and the whole thing's on your head. There."

He pointed across his brother's chest, roughly in the direction of the side mirror. LeBeau looked over and saw something that roughly resembled the loading docks. He spun the wheel to the left, taking the truck over the grass median that separated the road from the dock parking lot. There was no time to find a road leading over there. His man had the instructions to wait by the door for only an appointed amount of time and that window was starting to close up.

The truck grumbled and shook its way across the grass, but the tires hit the pavement on the other side. LeBeau pulled the vehicle up into a parking space near the door. They grabbed their guns out of the glove compartment and got out of the truck, getting themselves situated. The plan was not to shoot anyone, in the name of discretion. Get in and then get out with no bullets left behind.

LeBeau went up the steps with the Miller brothers on his heels and knocked on the door. Right away, it creaked open, revealing a man with gray eyes, dark hair, and a perpetually jittery expression. He wore a blue jump-suit and a name-badge that revealed his status as a S.T.A.R. Labs night janitor.

"M-Martin..." he stuttered, flinching slightly upon seeing the man.

"Rudy, m'man, time for you to earn your paycheck." LeBeau said, pushing the janitor aside so he and the Miller brothers could come in. "You do what I ask?"

"Y-Yeah, I uploaded ev-everything on the flash d-drive just like you asked. The cameras are l-looping." Rudy nodded, shying back automatically from the burly twins. He was a thin man and they were quite a bit bigger.

"Hey, they're harmless." LeBeau assured him and the brothers grinned in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner, but they showed too much tooth. "Back-up, if something goes wrong."

"Do you ex-expect something to go wrong?" Rudy wondered.

"Not if you did everything right."

The janitor cringed.

"Now let's go." LeBeau said, leading the way down the hall.

Rudy cringed some more and seemed to shrink into his blue jumpsuit. Miller the Elder threw a broad arm around the janitor to guide him forward in LeBeau's wake and tried to be reassuring. They couldn't have the dude flaking out on them now. They still needed him to get through the secured doors.

"Hey, don't you worry, little man. Ain't nothing gonna go wrong. You look like a man who knows how to get things done." he said.

"R-Really?" Rudy asked weakly, looking up at him nervously.

"Yeah, really." Miller the Younger agreed. "How much is Marty paying you to help?"

"Five grand. Never seen that much money in my life." Rudy admitted. Not all at one time, at least. The cost of living in Metropolis assured that he never had more than five hundred in his bank account at any given time.

"That's good money. Bet you deserve it. You look like you work hard." Miller the Younger said, patting him on the back.

"I _do_ work hard." Rudy muttered in a sort of awed tone, as if he had never considered such a thing before.

"But you'll wanna blow out of town after this over." Miller the Elder informed him.

The janitor blinked. "What?"

"Well see, you kinda handed in your letter of resignation by agreeing to this. Once they figure out the theft, they're going to start looking at who was on shift tonight and your name's going to be on the sheet. They'll take you in for questioning, at least." Miller the Elder explained. "Five grand, though. That's gonna be enough to get you outta here and set up somewhere else."

"You should come with us. We're heading for the bayou after this. Got plans for a restaurant. We could use a third hand on setting up." Miller the Younger suggested. "We could teach you all about good Cajun cooking."

Rudy had been paling ever since the implication of getting arrested. His face looked singularly pale under the emergency lights that were only on this late at night. He started to twist under Miller the Elder's restraining arm, his eyes darting around as he looked for a place to run to.

"W-Wait, what'd I agree to do?" he wondered frantically. "I don't want to get arrested, I can't go to jail!" He jerked out of he Miller's grip so suddenly that the twin let him go out of surprise, and ran up to clasp LeBeau's jacket in clutching hands. "Please, Martin! I'll just give you the keycard for the store room and we'll call it even! I can't go to jail! I never agreed to this much-"

"Shut up!" LeBeau snarled, swinging a fist at the man. He aborted it so it didn't hit him, but Rudy ducked anyways. LeBeau grabbed the collar of his jumpsuit and pulled him up to eye level.

"You want the five grand or not? I ain't payin' you until we're outta here. Now you agreed to get us in and down to the store room _yourself_. That means you shut up and do what you're told. No backing out, not until the job is over. You got me?"

Rudy nodded frantically. "S-Sure, whatever you say."

"That's what I like to hear." LeBeau said. He shoved the janitor forward to the intersection of hallways they had come upon. "Now which way are we going?"

"Th-That way." Rudy pointed down the right hand hallway. "We're going to pass one of the bigger labs, th-though. There might still be people there."

"Will they see us?" LeBeau nodded.

"No, it's t-technically down a level. There's an observation window-"

"Lead the way."

Rudy did so reluctantly.

"Hey Marty, go easy on the little guy." Miller the Younger suggested, lightly putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "He's nervous as hell."

"I ain't in the mood for coddling the little bastard. Just wanna get in and out. Don't care if it means I hafta be an ass." LeBeau grumbled, shaking off the hand.

They walked down the gray, sterile hallways. Their shadows grew long and short again as they passed by the only lights on. A brightness shone at the corner up ahead and Rudy's sudden skittishness told them they were getting close to the active lab he had mentioned. It was indeed down a level, but part of it was enclosed in glass panes, like the observation deck of an operating theater. LeBeau was getting the feeling that Rudy was taking them along the tour route, as it was less likely to have security check-points.

The Miller brothers pushed ahead of Rudy curiously to see what was down inside the lab. LeBeau followed them and looked down through the windows. He almost knew what was down there before he actually looked and it was still a sight to behold.

"Whoa, is that what I think it is down there?" Miller the Elder breathed out excitedly.

Only three scientists were visible in the lab, but they had no reason to be looking up at the observation deck. Everything to occupy their attention was right in the middle of the floor. An alien craft gleamed white like a piece of milky quartz. It had an elongated shape, sleek and fast-looking. The central pod that was about four feet long but only two feet wide. Three gimbals were suspended around the pod, like that of a gyroscope to control the roll, the pitch, and the yaw. The gimbals weren't attached to anything, not even each other. Sprouting from the back of the pod were conical spikes that curved towards each other like claws. Altogether, it was a spindly looking thing and the edges seemed to push the eye away, like it wanted you to look to the side and forget about it.

"Yep, that's it." LeBeau grinned, leaning on the railing. "That's the ship that brought Superman down to Earth."

"Wow." Miller the Elder whispered.

"We ain't stealing that, are we?" Miller the Younger wondered. No one could blame him for being awed. Even at rest, it was a beautiful sight. Under the bright lights of the lab, the quartz-like crystal had an iridescent shine.

"Nah, I just wanted to see it." LeBeau said. "Just wanted to remind myself where he came from, so I wouldn't feel so bad about getting caught."

"He did help put your ass in jail."

"He ain't a god or a monster, but he just ain't human either."

Not that they could have stolen it anyways. It was reported to weigh at least a ton and Superman had shut off the anti-gravs. The craft was balanced perfectly and precariously on its outer gimbal. It seemed a light touch could have pushed it over, but that was hardly the case. It would take all sorts of heavy equipment they didn't have to move it.

LeBeau pushed off the railing. "Okay, no time to gawk. Back to work. Where's the store room, Rudy?"

"This way."

There was a locked door off the corridor. Rudy swiped his keycard and got them through easily. Being a janitor, he had a fairly extensive security clearance. There were a few parts of the facility he wasn't permitted to access, even to clean. But a store room wasn't one of those places.

It was at the end of the locked hallway. Rudy swiped his keycard through the reader and the light flashed green as the locks clunked open. He pulled the door open. LeBeau went through first. The store room was large and partially lit. The metal shelves were littered with more science-related things than he knew existed. There were crates full of spare parts. Barrels and canisters full of who knew what.

"What are we looking for?" Miller the Elder asked.

"It's labeled AC one one nine dash three eight." LeBeau said. He looked over at the janitor, who flinched. "Rudy, where would we find that?"

"Um... AC would be..." Rudy turned down the aisle directly next to the door. The shelves were stocked high with barrels of all sizes. "It'd be along this wall, probably near the middle, but I don't think we-"

"I didn't ask what you think. Shut up." LeBeau ordered.

He walked down the aisle, the Miller brothers trailing after him. They kept stopping to dig their hands into the crates and poke and prod at whatever they found. It was usually calcified formations in bags and containers. A clear canister of sloshy pink liquid. A container of green rocks that gave off a faint glow, stamped with a warning sticker that the rocks shouldn't be handled without protective gear. Everything was meticulously labeled and the brothers were careful to put everything back where they had picked it up.

LeBeau, meanwhile, moved along the aisle and watched the numbers move up until he reached a stocky metal barrel bearing the tag with the appropriate number.

"Shit, that's bigger than I imagined." he muttered, scratching his head.

"Nah, we could just roll it out." Miller the Younger said.

"I could carry it." Miller the Elder shrugged.

"No, you can't!" Rudy interrupted, half-lunging at them like he could physically stop them.

"What are you on about?" LeBeau demanded.

"Martin, look at the label." Rudy pointed to the bright orange label on the side of the barrel. Beside the black-and-yellow sticker for toxic waste were the words ' **Potentially hazardous material. Do not agitate.** ' "We can't shake it up or who knows what will happen. We'll have to roll it out on a hand-cart."

"Then go get one." LeBeau ordered.

"But that's all the way back at the loading docks." Rudy pointed out.

"Great. We'll wait for you outside. We'll have the truck pulled up to a dock." LeBeau slapped a hand on the janitor's shoulder and then squeezed hard in warning. "And if you don't come back with my stuff, don't expect to get paid."

Rudy's nod was almost spasmodic. "S-Sure thing."

LeBeau released his shoulder with a shove and went past him back to the door. The Miller brothers each slapped a hand on the janitor's back as they passed. Theirs was one of solidarity and reassurance, but Rudy was far from reassured by anything. He gave himself a moment to moan into his hands in despair.

This was a bad idea. It had been from the start. He was going to lose his job if he got caught and Rudy had no marketable skills aside from being pretty handy with a mop and a wash-cloth. Hell, he was going to have to quit, period. He couldn't risk getting caught if the theft was found and reported. They would check the schedule and see that he was on shift in this part of the building and they would come after him.

But five thousand was five thousand and that sort of money wasn't easy to come by for a blue-collar worker. That was an entire year's pay for him. That was enough money to move out of Metropolis and set up somewhere else.

Gotham was full of cheap apartments.

Of course, if he had known a week ago how this night was going to end for him, he would have blown out of town within the hour. By dawn, Rudy Jones was not going to be the same man he had been when he'd clocked in for work.

No one would be certain if he was even still a man at all.

* * *

-0-


	11. Chapter 11

My more spirited shot at NaNoWriMo is going pretty well. 9 days in and I'm still hanging in there. Much better than last year. For anyone curious about my progress.

If you want to reach the 50,000 goal by the end of the month, you have to write at least 1,667 words per day. So by day 9, the idea is to have just about 15,000 words. I have about 17,700 words and counting. So not too bad for the second attempt.

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

Rudy encountered absolutely no one on his way to the loading docks and back again with the hand-cart. He strapped the barrel onto the dolly. Its contents sloshed faintly and he held his breath during the process. There was no telling what the stuff actually was. S.T.A.R. Labs handled a lot that was potentially hazardous to continued life, especially now that they were poking around an honest-to-god alien space ship.

Rudy knew that he wasn't smart enough to really understand what the scientists were doing in their labs. All that stuff went over his head, even in the simple terms. But he knew other stuff. Give him a pocket knife and a block of wood and he could make some pretty amazing things.

The barrel safely strapped onto the cart, the janitor made a cautious trek back to the loading docks. He tried to be nonchalant, to pretend he was supposed to be doing this. He rehearsed a lie in his head, just in case anyone stopped to ask what he was doing.

It didn't seem likely. No one had ever really noticed him anyways.

That was life for Rudy Jones, ever since he had gotten out into the real world. Oh, he had been a big-shot in a small-town high school. The star of the football team. The champ of the basketball team. The darling of the postage-stamp sized community. Everybody had known his name, chanting it lustily when he ran out onto the field and the court. His talents had brought victory and acclaim to his tiny school. He'd had friends in every class. Everyone wanted to know Rudy Jones. He had graduated high school with everyone saying that he had a bright future ahead of him.

But one by one, colleges had rejected his applications, citing that his grades were inadequate. Scholarships had turned him down for the same reasons. While Rudy had excelled on the field and on the court, his grades had sunk lower and lower. He had scraped through graduation by the grace of administrative favoritism. He had only gotten his diploma because the principal hadn't been able to bear the idea of not passing him.

It had taken Rudy just months to learn that the glory and shine he had enjoyed during high school meant nothing when he had to start looking for jobs after every college refused to take him. The star athlete was a wash-out if his grades were horrible.

It had taken more than three years for him to learn _why_ he had graduated high school at all.

By that time, Rudy had already felt vastly inadequate. But to learn that he had only graduated because someone had essentially felt sorry for him, well... That had been the last blow to his ambitions. The urge to seek a better job had vanished and he had sunk into the mire of anonymity.

No one looked at Rudy Jones anymore.

Right now, he was counting on that.

The corridor remained clear on his way back to the loading docks. He tried not to poke his head cautiously around the corner of the doorway, but the sound of two voices made him stop short.

"-going to see Madame Butterfly next week at the Palladium."

"Aw man, my girls have been dying to see that while it's in town. Are the tickets really expensive?"

"Fifty bucks if you don't mind sitting way in the back."

"Huh, bet I could swing it for them. Andrea's birthday is the week after next and it's just her and her sister..."

"Yeah, do something nice for your girls."

It was two security guards making their rounds. He nearly turned and ran the other direction, but five thousand dollars hung in the balance. They wouldn't notice him anyways. He was just a janitor.

Rudy pushed the cart in, walking towards the dock that LeBeau had indicated. The steel door had been rolled up just an inch or two and he could see one of the Miller twins peeking through the gap.

"Hey- Rudy, isn't it?" One of the guards hailed him. "Hey Rudy!"

The janitor slowed to a halt and turned to face the pair of guards coming up to him. Rudy recognized one of them, the one with the trimmed beard. That guy liked to listen to selections of classical music during lunch.

"Hi..." Rudy said weakly. "Good night?"

"Quiet. Not like anything exciting happens around here anyways." the guard said. He pointed to the barrel. "Don't mind if I ask what you're doing with that?"

"Uh, there's a waste shipment going out f-first thing tomorrow." Rudy lied, grateful that he hadn't stuttered too much. "The guys... They just asked me if I could get a few things set up for them over here... Y'know, so they don't have to spend time hunting them d-down in the morning."

"Alright, just let me check the schedule." The guard raised his tablet. "I don't remember anything about a shipment, but they could have changed that last minute. Science types around here are scatterbrained..."

His partner chuckled at the statement.

Rudy panicked.

He couldn't help it. His nerves had been strung tight all evening and he'd been _almost_ out of this! Suddenly, he didn't care about not shaking up the barrel. He didn't care about losing his job. He just wanted to get the fuck out of here without getting arrested!

So he panicked and broke into a run, pushing the cart ahead of him.

"Hey!" the guard shouted after him, more in surprise than alarm.

The dock door was thrown up with a loud clatter and the Miller twins hulked their way onto the concrete. Back-lit by the security light behind them, they looked like horrifying primordial entities jumping out of the floor. They raised their guns and aimed past Rudy before squeezing the triggers. The two guards scrambled for cover behind a forklift.

The truck was backed up to the dock, LeBeau in the driver's seat. Rudy skidded to a halt just shy of the truck bed, pulling the cart back away from the edge.

"You said no one would get hurt! You said there wouldn't be any guns! You promised!" he protested.

"That was before you messed up!" LeBeau snapped. "Get in the back so we can get out of here! Millers! Let's go!"

"Hang on!" Miller the Younger took a careful aim at a barrel still awaiting disposal. It was labeled ' **Flammable** '. The bullet struck dead-center and the liquid gushed out through the puncture. Miller the Elder took a lighter out of his pocket and flicked the flint until there was a small flame. He heaved it towards the expanding puddle.

"Now let's go! Go, little man!" he shouted at Rudy.

Rudy made a funny noise, like a mouse being stepped on. He wanted to shout that this was wrong and he had been promised that no one would get hurt, but all the words stuck in his throat. The bearded guard was the closest thing to a friend that he'd had and he didn't want to see the man get hurt.

He had never asked for this, but he was getting it anyways.

"Get on!" LeBeau screamed.

Not sure he could think for himself right now, Rudy shoved the barrel, hand-cart and all, into the bed of the truck and threw himself in behind it. The Miller brothers squeezed back into the passenger side. LeBeau stomped on the gas, sending the truck lurching away and Rudy nearly fell out of the back.

"Hey! I need to secure the barrel!" he shouted, searching frantically for something he could use to tie down the cart and the barrel. Surely they had brought bungee cables...

The flammable liquid reached the lighter and the loading docks exploded in a fireball.

Rudy whipped around, the heat washing over his face, however distantly. Two emotions slammed into him as he watched the flames leap into the air; relief that he hadn't been in there, but horror because there was no telling if the guards had gotten out of there in time.

"I didn't want this..." he whispered.

By morning, there were going to be a lot of things he didn't want.

The truck bounced hard over a speed bump, knocking the janitor off his feet. He fell on his rear hard enough to bruise his tail bone. He grabbed the side of the truck bed and hauled himself upright.

"Martin! Slow down!" he requested, but he didn't think LeBeau could hear him. LeBeau certainly didn't act like it.

The only thing on LeBeau's mind was to get the hell away from S.T.A.R. Labs as fast as possible. He had gotten what his client had wanted, but Rudy had fucked this up. So much for getting out quietly.

He poured on the speed and shot for the nearest exit. It was chained and barred, but the truck was heavy-duty and moving at ninety-miles an hour. It battered down the gate, the chain snapping under sheer force.

"Martin!" Rudy wailed from the back, struggling to keep himself steady.

LeBeau executed a hard turn to get back onto the main road leading to the Ecton Pike Bridge. It would take them right into the heart of Metrodale. He gunned the engine as fast as it would go. They could slow down once they were on the north side, but not sooner.

In retrospect - but _only_ in retrospect - he would think that he should have slowed down sooner.

Rudy clung to the side of the truck bed, his head ducked against the wind. Even five thousand dollars wasn't worth the lives of two men. The bearded security guard was a good man. He played his music just loud enough that Rudy could hear it in the break room; lately, it had been Pachabel. His wife loved opera. Rudy didn't know the other guard, but he had a family. Two daughters.

Maybe they didn't have a father anymore.

He should have said 'no' when LeBeau had come to him and this wouldn't have happened. He should have found that spine he used to have; the one that had gotten him a reputation back in high school. What had happened to that spine?

Oh yeah, it had disappeared when he'd found out that he was nothing but a useless paperclip. One that no one had liked. Not enough to tell him that he was failing high school.

Of course this had happened. He couldn't do anything right.

And now he would have to run. Go on the lam. Dye his hair, change his name. Head north to the Yukon and herd caribou. That sounded like a good plan. He could hardly screw that up.

"Can this night get any worse?" Rudy lamented.

The barrel burst open and everything inside spewed all over him.

Do not agitate.

Exactly what LeBeau's driving had done.

They should have included ' _contents under pressure_ ' on the warning label.

Rudy burned.

One time, back in high school chemistry, he had gotten a little bold and handsy with a chemical that wasn't supposed to touch bare skin. He had been enough of a stupid arrogant teenager to pour a little bit of that stuff on his hand,

ust to see what would happen.

What had happened was the worst itching ever, so bad it felt like razor blades scraping sideways across a patch of skin just half a square inch and peeling away the layers of skin. His teacher had shoved his hand under a gush of water from the sink and bellowed at him like a trumpeting elephant.

At the time, Rudy hadn't gotten in trouble for playing with the chemicals. It had been just conceivable enough to think that he had accidentally gotten some splashed on him before he'd put the gloves on.

If he was ever asked what it felt like to be splashed with the substance from the barrel, he would probably relate the high school chemistry story because there were no words to describe this.

The thing was, the liquid didn't burn like acid. It didn't burn like it was eating away at him. It corroded his clothes, but it didn't bite away his skin. It sunk into his flesh like hot needles. It made his skin melt and run like wax. It was the kind of pain that numbed his mind and shut down his nerves in sheer denial that it could ever be _this_ bad. This was the kind of pain that wasn't supposed to exist.

An utterly unearthly scream tore out of Rudy's throat and he writhed on the floor of the truck bed. The rest of the liquid bubbled and frothed around him. His hands scrabbled wildly at his skin and his hair, pulling out clumps of the latter in the process. The only thought in his head was to get to a body of water, to wash off the horrible burning. But his legs only kicked spasmodically, uncoordinated.

He needed LeBeau to stop the truck.

When Rudy had first started screaming, about twenty seconds earlier, Miller the Younger tried to look over his shoulder to see if everything was alright, but he was jammed between his brother and LeBeau, and he could hardly move at all.

"I think we need to stop." he said.

"He's just being dramatic." LeBeau spat. "We're almost there."

The Ecton Pike Bridge was just ahead.

"He really sounds like he's in pain." Miller the Elder commented, looking at the wing mirror. "We should stop."

"An' I say he's fine." LeBeau insisted. "He's just being stupid."

A purple hand slapped up against the rear window and a head bearing a mouth like a lamprey eel appeared in the rearview mirror. There was a faint glow and specks of what must have been skin flecked onto the window. LeBeau reacted about the way you'd expect anyone to react when they saw a monster behind them.

"Holyfuckwhatthehell _-_ -!" he gabbled, stomping on the brakes and jerking the wheel. Beside him, the Miller brothers shouted incoherently and tried to bring their guns to bear, but there just wasn't enought room in the truck cab.

The thing that had once been Rudy Jones moaned painfully and pawed at the glass. No longer did he look very human, but he was starting to resemble a melting purple wax figure with a radioactive glow.

"Swerve, swerve!" One of the Millers shouted.

LeBeau did.

The truck fishtailed madly, flailing this way and that in an effort to throw Rudy out. There was no more compassion to be had from the Miller brothers; they were shouting and swearing and ordering LeBeau to do whatever he could to _get out_ whatever was back there. The vehicle lurched into a sideways skid, threatening to roll. LeBeau struggled to keep that from happening. It swerved up towards the outermost barriers around the Ecton Pike Bridge and the back half slammed into the concrete pylon with a solid-sounding thud. The impact threw the hapless Rudy Jones out of the truck bed. His deformed body tumbled down the slope and under the bridge to the water's edge.

The truck engine sputtered its dying clunks and fell silent. After the frantic-ness of a moment ago, the quiet and the sudden stillness were both deafening in their own ways. For a moment, all LeBeau heard was the bellow-like breaths of the Miller brothers beside him.

"Was that Rudy?" he wondered.

"I think so." Miller the Younger said.

"We should check on him." Miller the Elder said.

Even LeBeau didn't argue it. He wasn't sure what had happened back there, but the screams of pain were nothing he would wish on anyone, so agonized they had sounded. The three men got out of the truck and made their way

over to the slope. The lamps illuminating the bridge didn't shine anywhere else but the road. It was all but pitch dark near the pillars, down there on the slope amid the tall reeds and the cattails.

"I don't see him down there." Miller the Elder said. "Maybe he went into the water?"

LeBeau advanced as far down the slope as he felt was safe. The ground took a sharp and rocky turn down to the sand and he couldn't see it very well. There were smears of that purple stuff on the stones.

"Rudy?" he called out in the direction of the reeds.

There was no answer. Not even the smallest sound.

"Rudy? You out there, little man?" Miller the Younger called.

The only thing they heard was the slosh of water on the banks.

"Y'know, I'm actually really good with the money I got up front." Miller the Elder said from behind his brother and LeBeau.

His twin nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Three hundred thousand's really good." he said, starting to back up. "Probably wouldn't hurt us to- y'know, ditch the truck and run for the airport."

LeBeau shuffled away from the edge of the slope as well. "Y'know, that does sound like a really good idea." he agreed. As far as he was concerned, the job was done. And if the client complained, then all he had to do was cite unsafe working conditions and a lack of pertinent information.

It probably would have been quite important to know what that purple stuff would do when it got all shook up.

He crept away a few more steps and then spun around, bolting for the road. The Miller brothers were right on his heels. The moment all three of them hit the pavement, they took off across the bridge, heading back to Metrodale.

They didn't look back once.

* * *

The worst part about being a member of the Special Crime Unit was the long hours. This was something Colletta Kanigher was intimately familiar with. She had been with the SCU coming up two years now. That first year and a half had wreaked terrible havoc on her sleep schedule, as there had only been so many officers to go around. Twelve to fourteen hour shifts had been the average.

They now counted up to a grand total of thirty-three people, but Colletta wasn't sure that was helping.

"Still pulling twelve hours at a time." she muttered out loud, to keep herself awake. "Sixteen hours tonight... god, I have to crash."

When the SCU wasn't trailing after Superman and handling the legalities surrounding his presence, they were being tasked to keep an eye on developing situations that hinted at meta-human involvement. This was a new development altogether. Superman's presence had made them aware that there would be a new generation of meta-humans coming into their powers at some point.

It did explain a few of the strange situations that had popped up since his arrival and well before. These situations were labeled Code Veitch, short-hand for "This is so bizarre and insane that the English language was no good words to describe it and I won't tie up the radio trying to".

The SCU had only begun to monitor potential metahumans since mid-June, after Lizzie and Big Susan had accidentally become media sensations. While their stories had called a great deal of attention to the homeless children of Metropolis, it had also reminded others that the White Scare hadn't wiped out every single metahuman.

It also reminded them that there was no reason to repeat the White Scare.

So far, the SCU was keeping tabs on a young boy who seemed able to tap into radio frequencies; a five year old girl who could speak five different languages with near fluency despite a very limited amount of exposure; and one very lucky-ass college student who had discovered that he could learn by osmosis. Literally, he could put his head on a book for about two minutes and come away knowing the entire contents. This had made him very popular and very unpopular at the same time, usually around exam times.

These were only the people who had come forward in the last two months.

There were less substantiated reports regarding children and young teens, almost exclusively in the seven to fourteen age range. They were the sort of reports that sounded like they belonged the Weekly World News. For example, a teenager had spontaneously combusted in the middle of a biology test, but after the flames had died, the kid had been fine. A small child had defied gravity and floated like a balloon. Another had been accused of cheating on a test because he had claimed to already know the answers; he had seen them. A twelve-year old had made flowers dance.

Reports like that were littered all over Metropolis, usually in the form of half-whispered rumors because the schools had found the incidents too absurd to properly record. It had been a long process for the SCU to hunt down the reports to their source and then try to verify them. Parents had slammed doors in their faces or breathed down their necks, and the children had already been instructed to never speak of the incidents. This had forced the SCU to surveillance in order to watch for any signs of super-human powers.

Unfortunately, this looked an awful lot like stalking.

One of the kids in Colletta's files was purported to be able to manipulate sound waves. Verifying this was nearly impossible. As with most of the kids, the parents were absurdly overprotective to the point of paranoia. After ten hours of surveillance over the course of three days, all Colletta was certain of was that there was _something_ up with the kid and the parents were determined to keep it a secret. The thing was, the parents were concerned that their children might be exploited for something horrible. It was a legitimate concern, but they weren't listening to the fact that the SCU mostly wanted to know where these children were, to have them accounted for in the event a proper criminal had the same powers.

But the time to think about it was not right now. Colletta needed to concentrate on keeping her car in its lane so she could get home. After her long day, she was completely shrubbed.

Not bushed.

Definitely shrubbed.

She lived out on the West River island, in one of the very first apartment buildings to go up in the general vicinity of the Vernon Bridge. It hadn't been the nicest place to live, when she had first moved in. But with the refurbishment of the West River well underway, even the worst corners were getting better.

Colletta smiled lazily at the thought of her soft bed and squishy pillows. She had been imagining it longingly for the past several hours. She had the next twenty-four hours to catch up on her sleep. Captain Sawyer had been very clear on the matter. If they worked a shift longer than twelve hours, she didn't want to see them back in the building until after twenty-four hours, barring emergencies. They all worked too much as it was and she didn't want them dropping off their feet in the middle of an emergency.

The headlights of her little car alighted on the tail end of a truck on the other side of the bridge. Colletta frowned, her little sixth sense giving a tingle. She slowed down as she came nearer to the truck. It had the appearance of being abandoned; that was too strange a place to park.

She stopped completely when it became clear that the truck was smashed against the concrete pylons that prevented vehicles from careening off into the river.

"Check it out and call it in, Etta. Someone could be hurt." Colletta told herself. She took a flashlight out of the glove-box and got out of the car, leaving the engine to idle.

Outside the car, the air smelled strangely foul. Like she had just walked into an empty room that smelled like fart; just strong enough to smell it without trying. It seemed to be coming largely from the truck.

"Hello, Met P.D. Anyone there?" she called out, panning the beam around. Over the truck bed, then its cab and then to the slope near the water's edge. The truck doors were wide open; the driver and the passenger had booked it in a hurry.

"Something must have spooked them."

The frown firmly on her face by this point, Colletta walked over to the truck bed and looked down into it. It was coated in a layer of purple ooze, originating around a barrel that had been busted wide open. The metal of the truck bed had corroded a little, but the hand-cart the barrel was still strapped to was nearly unrecognizable for how twisted and mangled it was.

"Eugh, or their shit spewed everywhere. That's gross." Colletta stepped back. "Possible theft and chemical spill, the vehicle's abandoned... Yeah, I'll have to call this one in."

She groaned at the idea. At this rate, it would be another hour before she got home and that was the optimistic estimate.

She turned to head back to the road when a low moan buzzed through the still August air behind her. Colletta froze for a second and then whirled around, bringing the flashlight up. The strong beam danced along the edge of the rocky slope, where she was sure the moan had come from.

"Hello? Metropolis P.D. Is there someone down there?" she called out.

A breeze rustled the grass and stirred the long braids of her hair. For a moment, all she did was stand there, peering into the darkness and listening intently for something wrong. A tingle crawled down her spine.

Something shifted over the rocks.

"Anyone there?" Colletta called out again, tentatively edging forward a small step. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

The grass rustled and the air still smelled slightly foul and off-color. The river trundled past. It was running pretty low. They hadn't yet gotten enough rain to bring the rivers back up to their usual levels. The water sloshed like things were splashing in the shallows, but there was still nothing she could see in the beam of the flashlight.

 _Ten bucks says I'm actually talking to a raccoon. Or a toad._

"If you're out there, I'm coming toward you." she said, stepping forward. The gritty earth crunched under her boots. The beam of the flashlight passed over tramped grass and shrubs. The chemicals spilled in the back of the truck had smeared here and there along the exposed rocks.

It was glowing faintly purple.

Colletta inhaled suddenly and sharply, looking away from the ooze. _It would be just my luck if it was radioactive..._ She thought, a prickle of fear passing through her. _God, I hope it's not radioactive._

The slope down to the water came up quickly, dropped away to the sand below. Colletta wasn't totally aware of the fact she was holding her breath as she peered down it. Before she could bring the flashlight beam fully to bear, the darkness lunged.

The last thing Colletta saw that night was a gaping lamprey mouth and a purple glowing being plowing her over so quickly and suddenly that she didn't have the idea of fighting back or reaching for her gun. The last thing she felt was the circle of needle-like teeth that dug into her shoulder. The last thing she heard was a horrible sucking noise.

And the last thing she was totally sure of was the fleeting thought she was going to die.

* * *

The hunger drove him forward with a viciousness, as though it were a creature all by itself and he was nothing more than a slave to it. His teeth dove into the soft flesh of the woman's shoulder, but it wasn't the blood or the muscle or the bone he was after.

No, it was the sweet, sweet energy of life that made him attack.

It was like pulses of white light to his twisted eyes; a rich, thick river of energy flowing through the body with every heart-beat. As strong as the solar winds, as unstoppable as the rising tide, as powerful as the fire in the earth. This was the energy that made up all life and he wanted it- No, he needed it. He needed it because he had none of his own. This was the only way he could live. There was a gaping hole where his stomach might have been; aching, empty, desperate and screaming to be filled.

The luster of energy in the woman's body started to fade, as it flowed into his parched one. It was strangely hot and thick, like a lava flow. But sweet like sugar cane. There was a sense of majesty to watching the glow die. If humans were made of star-stuff, as people liked to think, then even stars died eventually.

He was watching the woman die...

 _No, stop! You'll kill her!_

Deep down kicked a tiny sliver of humanity that hadn't lost itself to the maddening hunger; that still had a measure of sanity to help it regain a foot-hold against the everything that pushed against it.

He wasn't a killer or a cold-blooded monster.

He was a janitor.

And Rudy Jones remembered who he was.

He wrenched his entire body away with a lurch, and the hunger tried to fight him on it. _Finish the meal!_ it demanded, attempting to force him back to the victim's shoulder like it had the physical capacity to do so. The horrible ache in his belly twisted and gaped even wider, but he had control again. He recognized that the woman- police officer - wasn't a meal.

He wasn't a killer.

 _Feed!_ The hunger demanded.

 _No!_ Rudy shook his head and was suddenly struck by how thick his neck was. It felt like his head was attached directly to his shoulders; he seemed to get so little movement out of it.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Rudy scrambled away from the police officer only when she moaned. His legs buckled under him, half in refusal to work, half because he couldn't remember _how_ they worked. But he staggered down the rocky slope. He crawled to the river's edge and found his reflection in the water.

He didn't look like Rudy Jones anymore.

He had been a pretty skinny fellow, putting more into dodging his football opponents and out-running them instead of bowling them over. Brown hair, gray eyes, an overlong nose. He really hadn't been anything to look at.

But now...

Now he didn't even look human anymore.

Now, he was huge, hulking, and purple. His shoulders were absurdly hunched and broad - as broad as the Miller twins put together. His chest was as large as the truck bed was wide and his legs were like tree-trunks, his arms the branches shooting off. They had been muscular once, but not like this. He looked down at his hands. They had never been small, but now they were large to the point of clumsy. Thick fingers and palms the size of a dinner plate. He flexed them, watching the sausage-like proportions curl and wiggle, and tried to tell himself that these were his hands now.

He didn't really have a neck either. It was like his head just rose out of the broad plain of his shoulders. He could see where his collarbone was and the corded tendons that attached to it. His mouth was round and full of needle-like teeth. He had no hair and his eyes were a sort of lavender color, filmy and opaque.

The being that stared back at him wasn't really him anymore.

"What happened to me..." Rudy grabbed what he could of his throat in shock. "My voice!"

It was rough and gravelly. He barely recognized it as his own.

"What happened to me?" he wondered again, dragging a thick finger down the rubbery skin that now made up his face. He couldn't feel it very well. His fingers weren't very sensitive and his skin felt blubbery.

Then it hit him.

 _LeBeau_.

If anyone knew why he was like this, Martin LeBeau did.

Behind him, the police officer moaned and Rudy jumped, the hunger within him stirring again. He stomped down on it, harnessing it, commanding it. The hunger wouldn't control him. The woman wasn't a meal and he wouldn't kill her. She had come with the best of intentions.

But LeBeau, on the other hand, hadn't.

Maybe Rudy could make a meal out of him instead.

* * *

LeBeau had lived in his tiny Slums apartment for barely a week. He had only several changes of clothes and even fewer personal belongings, yet to took him nearly half an hour to gather them all up from the corners of the apartment. He bypassed the tedious process of folding his shirts and stuffed them into the duffel bag, only pausing long enough to get them out of the way of the zipper.

"Gotham's a good place to start." he mumbled to himself, feverishly emptying the medicine cabinet of all the orange prescription bottles, pushing them into a plastic bag. "I can sell all these, bum a few jobs for a plane ticket, then get somewhere else."

Yes, if you wanted to get anywhere without anyone questioning your destination of choice, then Gotham was the most ideal port of call. Its customs agents and TSA officers were the laziest bums imaginable. They wouldn't bat an eye at a dozen prescription medications.

He would have to hitch a train out of Metropolis, though. The airport would be more than a little touchy about his carry-on.

He shoved the plastic bag into the duffel and zipped it shut, heaving it around his shoulder in almost the same motion. He grabbed a baseball cap off the hat rack on his way to the door, shoving it over his head, and the door burst off its hinges.

LeBeau didn't even have a second to see which the direction the door was flying in before a large purple fist clamped around his throat so hard he thought his head would pop off right then and there. His back slammed into a wall somewhere in the apartment, his hands clawing at the limb of the thing that held him. Sparkles danced briefly in his vision and his lungs fought for air until the pressure on his neck let up enough for him to suck in a gasp of air.

He looked up.

A _thing_ glared down at him with the most numbing, ferocious glare he had ever seen. Flat, lavender eyes that were far from blank, but flared with anger. The entire _thing_ was purple and glowing oddly. Gray-ish streaks wrapped around the _thing_ 's enormous body and horribly, they appeared to wiggle of their own accord. It had no neck and a gaping mouth lined with no fewer than three rows of needle-sharp teeth.

"Wh-Wha..." LeBeau managed, struggling more against the feral panic than the hand that had pinned him.

Then the _thing_ spoke.

"I smelled you halfway across the city. It was incredible." it said. Its voice sounded like a rock polisher. Its mouth widened in a leering grin. "You smell _delicious_."

LeBeau shivered. "What are you?..."

The monster chuckled, like two rocks grinding together in an engine. "I didn't recognize me either, not right away." It leaned in closer. "I don't know what I am anymore, but I do know that _you_ had something to do with it."

"I _-_ \- I don't know what you're talking about!" LeBeau found himself laughing, hysterical though it was. "I think I'd remember _-_ -" He waved a hand. "This _-_ \- this _-_ -"

"It happened forty-five minutes ago!" the beast growled.

LeBeau blinked, but his memory needed no further prompting. The purple hand and the lamprey eel mouth in the rear window of the truck and the body that had been flung down the slope.

"R-Rudy? Rudy Jones, the S.T.A.R. Labs janitor?" he asked, his jaw falling open in disbelief. "Good lord, what happened to you _-_ -"

"You tell me!" Rudy roared, shoving the man further into the unyielding wall. "What was that stuff!? What chemical was that?!"

"I dunno!" LeBeau shrank under the former janitor's anger. "I usually don't ask about that stuff! It makes it easier to pretend if the police come around _-_ -"

"You're lying!"

"No, I don't know! I really don't know! Just trust me _-_ -"

"I did! Now look at me!" Rudy snarled. His hand tightened briefly over the man's neck before he remembered that he needed LeBeau to talk and he needed to be able to breathe to do that. "Who did you take the job from?"

"I didn't ask for no name. Anonymity's the biggest weapon in the arsenal. The less I know, the better." LeBeau said, shrugging. "But maybe Luthor or that Furie woman? There's only so many people in this city who got the money to pay the fees I got paid. Someone of means. That's all I can give you. I mean, they're saying that Ms. Furie's a terrorist and we all know about Luthor. Those rumors had to start somewhere, right?"

"Right." Rudy repeated. His anger hadn't abated. But he had gotten enough information to start and now it was time to do what he had come here to do. "I'm hungry and you owe me."

"I don't got anything, sorry." LeBeau said.

"Yes you do." Rudy said. "I'm going to show you what you turned me into."

He opened his mouth wider than ever before, his jaw unhinging like a snake's. LeBeau uttered a little scream and started to struggle in earnest, as if he knew what was coming. He probably had an inkling, but it wasn't until the mouth closed over his head that he was sure.

Rudy made sure that it wasn't quick.

* * *

-0-


	12. Chapter 12

My spirited attempt at NaNoWriMo has lost some momentum, but I'm still hanging in there. We're at halfway, so as far as I'm concerned, I'm in too deep to back out now.

* * *

Chapter Twelve:

Saturday morning came on bright and strong and sunny, the highs projected to soar into the upper eighties. A positively blistering day for Metropolis. But a wonderful summer day meant more people out and about to the LExpo.

Quite deliberately, it was being held in the newly-opened West River Park (around which the newly bulldozed property plots were being sold for the construction of townhouses). Saturday was just as much as the grand opening party for the new park as it was for the LExpo. It had the intended effect. The West River Park was half a square mile large, centrally located on the island. The trees had only been in the ground for three months, since Arbor Day. The flowers were in full blown and the grass had a weird sort of newly-minted appearance. The grounds had been seeded later than planned, so the grass still looked like it hadn't seen much sun. There were still a few bare patches, but they had been covered today.

It really was a delightful place, or at least it had the makings of one. The paths were clean and swept, dotted with benches and waste-bins and most of those new trees. There was an enormous lake with a small population of fish and an artificial canal cutting a winding path through the park. There was an outdoor amphitheater; a brand-new venue for concerts and performances. There were soccer fields and baseball diamonds. A classy glass and concrete pavilion was the center-point of the LExpo, where Luthor was going to unveil his new technology.

All around the pavilion were booths and tents and trailers. Some were food trucks to cater to the inevitably hungry people and a three-piece band provided ambient background music to the proceedings. But the rest were the aspiring inventors, the amatuer roboticists, the young engineers and mechanics, and the hopeful scientists with grand ideas in their heads. This was the first time many of them had had the chance to put their brain-children and their skills forward to an interested audience.

The LexCorp event wasn't scheduled to begin until eleven o'clock sharp, so Clark and Lois had taken to wandering the booths and doing the reporter thing in order to kill time effectively. Many of the young people behind the booths were all too eager to talk about their accomplishments and their future accomplishments. Some were so verbose that Clark had to ask them to summarize it down to a short paragraph, so he could include it in the article without going over the word-count.

They came in all forms. There were the wrench-monkey mechanics who fiddled with side-projects even as they talked about what was on their tables. The inventors and engineers with far too many ideas and had notebooks overflowing with all of them. There were the perpetually nerdy scientists who couldn't string a full sentence together without at least one stutter. There were those who had only had one idea their entire lives and their whole reason for being here was for that one thing. Others were simply here for the exposure or the chance to talk science with like-minded fellows.

Clark made an effort to get around to all the booths and tables at least once to see what was being offered.

The ideas weren't radically new and breath-taking. At this point in progress, it wasn't a question of: _"Did I discover something new that no one's ever seen before?"_ It was more like: _"How can I improve this out-dated idea and make it more efficient?"_ and: _"Did I find a solution that no one's considered before?"_

Nonetheless, it was fascinating to see what the movers and shakers of tomorrow were up to.

Through the din of noise, Clark heard his phone ring and he fished it out of his suit pocket.

"Clark Kent." he said briskly.

" _Mr. Kent, this is Captain Sawyer_." said the equally brisk voice on the other end.

Clark smiled. "Good morning, Captain. Is there something I can help you with?"

" _No, I just have something I think you'd like to hear. Do you remember Martin LeBeau?_ " Maggie asked. " _He was arrested six months ago for swindling money out of construction companies on the West River project._ "

"Yes, I heard he got out of jail earlier this week." Clark nodded. Lois had been downright incensed. "What about him?"

" _He's dead._ " Maggie replied, in a tone of finality. " _We got the call around six o'clock this morning._ "

"What happened?" Clark asked, rubbing his neck absently. It must have been something obviously strange at first sight, if any member of the SCU had been called in. He opened to a fresh page of his notebook to take notes.

" _We're not sure yet. We haven't started piecing together the timeline._ " the captain admitted. " _The neighbors reported that they heard shouting, thumping, and groaning around one o'clock last night, so you can imagine what they thought was going on._ _But we're over here in the Suicide Slums._ "

Which meant that no one was going to go barging in to check on their neighbors. LeBeau had probably been occupying something very low-rent with an even lower reputation. Somewhere he could put his ear to the ground.

"Any idea what might have killed him?" Clark wondered.

There was a breathy huff from the other end of the phone before Maggie said: " _They Veitch'd this one because LeBeau's a desiccated husk. I'm leaving this one to the coroner._ "

"Desiccated?"

" _Like a cicada shell._ "

There was a grim note in the captain's voice, as well as something that sounded resigned, like she had been expecting this.

" _I think one of our local meta-humans just showed an ugly side._ "

"Any idea on who might have wanted a crack at him?" Clark asked.

" _Nothing so far. People like Martin LeBeau tend to leave others very unhappy. There's too many possible suspects to choose from. But his bags were packed when we got here, so he was about to run._ " Maggie explained. " _Also, I've got an officer down in the hospital and S.T.A.R. Labs reported both a theft and a fire last night, both about an hour before Mr. LeBeau's estimated time of death. We're looking into that next._ "

"Sounds mighty suspicious." Clark commented, while the captain hummed in agreement. "Who's the officer down?"

" _Ah... You're friends with Colletta, right?_ "

"Mostly, is she okay?" Clark asked, worry tingeing his tone. Colletta was a good friend.

" _I think so. She's responsive to stimuli, but the doctors aren't sure what the hell happened to her and she's not awake to tell us_. _She's not physically injured as far as anyone can tell._ " Maggie admitted, briefly biting her lip. " _All I know for certain is that she was attacked and I'm starting to think whatever got her also got LeBeau. The location's just too much of a coincidence._ "

"I'll let you know if I hear anything on my end." Clark offered. "Could you keep me posted on Colletta's condition?"

" _Absolutely. Just don't share the story with Ms. Lane. I've got enough on my plate without her snooping around._ " Maggie said firmly. More than enough. Tyler Jones was a beaurucratic nightmare.

"That won't be a problem." the man assured her, flipping back to his LExpo notes when he spotted a familiar face making a way through the crowd. "Thanks for the call."

He hung up just as Lois popped up at his side.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously.

"Captain Sawyer."

"Ah, a scoop?"

"No, Colletta's in the hospital."

Lois's face went from expectant to petrified faster than he'd ever seen it. Her heart-rate jumped like a jackrabbit and her pupils constricted in fear. Then her expression slid cautiously into concern and a sort of controlled panic.

"What _-_ \- What happened?"

Clark shrugged. "She was attacked by _something_ last night. She's not injured physically, but she's also not awake yet to tell anyone what happened." he said, keeping his tone sympathetic. Colletta was Lois's only former girlfriend and they were still good friends to this day.

"But _-_ \- she's all right?" Lois asked tentatively.

"Captain Sawyer didn't sound too worried," Clark said. "But I can call her back and ask what hospital Colletta's in, and we can visit after we're done here."

Lois nodded, looking a bit pale and lost for a moment. She and Colletta would never get back what they used to have, but they were still friends. They still chatted and met for drinks and lunch and went clubbing if their schedules aligned and watched the latest television crazes with popcorn and pizza.

Lois didn't have many friends and the thought of losing any one of them was like an icy hand on her heart.

"Okay..." She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. By the time she released it, she had recomposed herself. "There's still a job to do here, Smallville. So! Anything interesting? Eye-catching?"

"Uh... There are a lot of people here." Clark said. He wasn't going to tell her about the scoop that Captain Sawyer had given him. Even he wasn't that safe from Lois's habit of out-scooping everyone

Lois frowned at his reply. "I really didn't notice." she muttered sarcastically. "But yeah, more than I thought, for a bunch of science egg-heads." Lois agreed. But when it was LexCorp behind the planning, people crashed the flood-gates.

"Most of the tech companies in the city have booths. Even Atlas Industries." Clark said, nodding vaguely in the direction where he had seen the company's booth. It seemed strange that they would show up at a well-attended event like this, but in light of their recent troubles, some good PR could go a long way.

"Yeah, I saw Ms. Furie a little bit ago. Her hair was down and she was wearing blue jeans; I almost didn't recognize her." the reporter commented.

"I hope she isn't walking around alone." Clark said, concerned. They were far from the only reporters here and some in attendance had even less journalistic integrity. If any of them recognized Ms. Furie, chances were good they would mob her relentlessly.

Lois smiled. "Don't worry, Smallville. Her coffee-hating friend hasn't left town yet." She still scowled like Barry Allen had personally insulted her with that hot chocolate. "C'mon, it's almost eleven. Luthor's ego-stroking is going to start soon. Rickards!"

She yelled the name over her shoulder, the name of the photographer most recently assigned to follow them. Poor Danny hadn't lasted until the end of the year. They had been through Dylan, McCaulley, Jerry, Stephanie, Pat, Linda, Beckers, and Robards since then. Each one of them had left for the same reason: Lois was too insane to work with. Rickards had been on the job two weeks now and it seemed Lois was actively attempting to get rid of him (three dog-fighting circuits, a drug operation, and way too up close with a bank robbery).

"He's on his way." Clark reported, spotting the mousy photographer trying to sidle through the crowd without getting noticed.

"LexCorp's coming up! Polish your zoom lens! I wanna see the gradients on Luthor's bald head!" Lois shouted. She tugged Clark's arm, prompting him to follow her to the new pavilion.

"So how was dinner with your father?" Clark wondered conversationally.

Lois frowned. "Didn't I already tell you?"

"No."

"Are you _sure_?"

She got up in his face on the 'sure', looking highly skeptical that he hadn't heard about it already. Clark tried to ignore the squirmy feeling in his gut.

"I'm positive, Lois." he said.

Lois turned away abruptly. "Nope, I'm still not playing along with this." she declared, throwing out her hands like she was shaking something off.

The squirmy feeling in Clark's gut intensified and he suddenly felt very guilty for no reason. It was obvious to him that Lois strongly suspected that he was secretly Superman. He had honestly tried to give her no reason to think that, but let's be real. This was _Lois Lane_. This woman had a bullshit detector better than any polygraph. She probably had a latent meta-power that was mind-reading or lie-detecting. She _could_ get blood out of a stone.

His disguise was paper-thin at best. Different hairstyle. The tint of his glasses darkened his eye color to a muted blue and he squinted pathetically when they were knocked off. He slouched too, hunched his shoulders in, hovered over his keyboard like a vulture. A different posture and a too-big wardrobe did wonders to hide the details. He also played at being clumsy. Deliberately tripping over your own feet was a _lot_ harder than it looked.

He never thought the disguise would hold up under close observation, it was so thin.

Lois had written the interview in such a way that it didn't sound like Superman could have a civilian identity. No one was really looking for connections between Superman and nameless Metropolis citizens.

But Clark spent nearly all of his free time around Lois. If anyone was going to notice when he started disappearing to go be Superman and showing up in all the right places, it would definitely be her.

But _telling_ her?

Nine months on and Clark still didn't know how he felt about it.

 _Maybe I should just tell her. She's right anyways, and it'll mean less trouble in the long run._ He tried not to bite his lip. _She's too suspicious to take any lies at face value. And I hate lying._

Shaking his head and still mired in indecision, Clark trailed after his partner into the pavilion. Maybe after this and after they'd visited Colletta, he'd take her to lunch at a place that didn't serve hot beverages and tell her everything she already knew (his skin didn't burn, but _man_ it still hurt to get scalding liquid right to the face).

Lois entered the pavilion alone. It was a broad, airy building with skylights over half the ceiling, the construction so newly completed that she could practically hear the timbers settling. There was an exterior hallway between the doors and the auditorium, which didn't appear quite finished yet. There were no chairs and the floor was still bare concrete. There was a stage on the far side, set up with a podium, a row of chairs, and the curtains closed. The auditorium was filling up with people from outside, many of them detouring over to the table of refreshments that Luthor had had set up, to nibble on whatever was over there.

The reporter found herself rolling her eyes. Even if Luthor didn't understand young people quite as well as he claimed to, he did understand the goodwill that could be incurred from a plate of food.

"Miss Lane!" called out a nasally voice that really wanted to be British.

Lois rolled her eyes and didn't bother with a smile as she turned around to find Sergeant John Corben approaching her. He was dressed in his combat fatigues this time, but he looked no less obnoxious and overbearing than the last time she'd seen him.

"I was hoping to run into you before we started. I was hoping that you'd accept an apology for my behavior the other night." the sergeant said. He frowned. "You're still not happy to see me."

"What gave it away? Was it the frown? The eye-roll?" Lois questioned dryly.

"Yes, I have realized my error." Corben said, going on as though she hadn't said anything. He snapped to attention, everything short of a salute. "I recognize my poor behavior and my lack of empathy. I failed to consider your feelings and for that, you have my sincerest apologies. I wish to make it up to you. Perhaps a cup of coffee later this afternoon?"

"Can't, on more than just the principle that an apology isn't going to cut it. I'll have a rough draft to polish and no time for anything else. My editor wants this in the Sunday paper." Lois said, not apologetic at all.

Corben blinked. "I don't understand?"

He was obviously trying to sound totally confused, but Lois knew he wasn't dumb. Nonetheless, she was going to have to spell it out for him.

"You fucked up and you fucked up _hard_. Normally, I'm approachable after twenty-four hours, but you left such a bad impression on me that I still haven't steamed off all the bad feelings I have towards you. An apology at this stage isn't going to cut it." she explained. "Either way, I'm still going to be chained to my computer all afternoon. See this press badge?" She tapped it where it was pinned to her lapel. "This means I'm here on official press business. I'm on the clock. I have a job to do. No time for casual coffee dates."

"Ah..." The sergeant nodded. "A later time then. Perhaps just a kiss on the cheek for good luck?"

Lois scowled. "I haven't driven my heel into your ballsack yet. Don't push your luck." she warned.

Corben made a visible effort not to shuffle back, but that may also have been partially due to Clark's arrival. Lois didn't have to look around to know he had come up behind her. He was suspiciously light-footed for someone who could trip over thin air, but he had a presence just distinct enough that Lois could all but sense it.

"Hello." he said pleasantly. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Yes. Who are you?" Corben asked. If he had been an animal with a visible dominance display, the spines or the feathers would have been going up.

"Clark Kent, Ms. Lane's partner." Clark said, thrusting out a hand.

 _Aaand cue the Alpha Male Ego display._ Lois thought, watching Corben reach back with the full intent of squeezing as hard as he could. As far as Corben has been led to believe, this was the man Lois was dating.

"Sergeant John Corben, United States Army."

His strong hand clamped down over Clark's and squeezed, but it wasn't Clark who flinched. The farm boy stood there with that absurdly pleasant smile that seemed half-vacant. Corben fought to hide his startled expression and withdrew his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kent." he said. "Really, Miss Lane has told me so much about you."

"Oh, I doubt that." Clark said pleasantly. "Lois barely talks to the people she does like, so never mind the ones she actively dislikes. She grunts, you see. It's a fascinating linguistic capability of hers to put five shades of meaning into one incoherent noise. It does take some time to parse out, but she's capable to saying quite a lot without saying anything at all."

"You seem to know her very well." Corben commented.

"Oh, well, we have been working together for almost a year now." Clark agreed. "You really can't hang around one person that long without picking up the nuances of their body language."

"She told me you and her are dating." Corben said, eyes narrowing.

"Are we?" Clark let out a very fake gasp. "Lois, you should have told me sooner. I would have brought you flowers the last time."

Lois bit down on her sniggers and patted her partner's shoulder. "You can bring them next time, _darling_." She beckoned him closer with two fingers. "Give us a kiss, sweetie."

Clark visibly hesitated and his cheeks colored pink. Navy blue eyes widening, he mouthed ' _are you sure?'_ Lois just grinned back and popped her eyebrows twice as if to reply: _'i wanna see him squirm'._

Another second passed without Clark moving, but then he bent down until he was level with Lois's face and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. The touch of his lips was electric. Lois nearly jolted away. The only thing that held her in place was the satisfying sight of Corben's face twisting in ways that the human face was normally not capable of. Clark pulled away after only a second, looking quite dazed that he had been allowed to get that close.

"I see." Corben said sourly. "The exhibition will be starting soon. I have to go take my place."

Then he was hurrying away across the auditorium.

"Creep." Lois grumbled, crossing her arms.

Clark blinked, still staring into the middle distance. "So... that just happened."

"Yes it did."

"Lois, I have feelings for you."

"I have suspected that for a while." she admitted. "You blush way too often around me not to."

The pink blush turned red.

"Relax Smallville." Lois thwacked his upper arm lightly. "I'm not gonna think any differently of you for having a crush _-_ \- Which does not mean I'm dismissing your feelings!" she added hastily. "I acknowledge you have them. I'm actually very flattered you think of me that way! I just think this is not something we should pursue at this time because... I'm not ready..."

"You're not ready?" Clark said incredulously. Did that mean she would be ready to return those feelings one day?

Lois shook her head. "Absolutely not. I haven't dated in... three years? Four years? That's a long time to be out of the saddle."

"Yeah... I really haven't been on a date since high school." Clark admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, this probably wasn't the best time for me to say that... What with Colletta..."

"No, no, I get it. There's never really a good moment to say something like that." Lois assured him. "Can we just... maybe leave things as they are right now?"

"As friends?"

"Yeah, since we can acknowledge that we are indeed mature adults who can handle a platonic friendship with right amount of awkwardness and a healthy dose of shame."

"Shame?"

Lois blushed a hot red color. "If we're being honest with each other right now, I have wanted to bang you from the moment I saw you in your pajamas." she said quietly, mostly into her fingers. "I'm a grown woman with a working libido, Clark. It happens."

Clark blinked in her general direction, his mouth opening and then closing like he was reconsidering his next statement every single time. Finally, he managed to get out: "I'm asexual."

"That's cool too!"

And it explained a fair bit, mostly why Clark wasn't dating his way through the available female population in the city like any good-looking bachelor in his position. With little to no interest in sex, that was bound to curb his interest in dating to a greater extent.

Lois became very aware that the moment between her and Clark had boiled into something very awkward. Clark had fixed his eyes on a point somewhere above her head, the pink blush persisting in his cheeks. However he had imagined this conversation to go, this was definitely not it.

"W-Well, I do feel a little better for having gotten that off my chest." Lois managed to say with only a little stuttering. "Confession is supposed to be good for the soul and I-I think it's good for us, as friends, to be able to share things like that with each other. It displays a level of trust. And understanding. In each other."

She hoped the words spilling out of her mouth actually made sense.

"Yes." Clark said, a little too brightly like he was just latching on to the word in order to make this conversation end much more quickly. "I like being your friend."

"Ditto."

And they shook hands like they were sealing a deal.

They held eye contact with each other over the handshake for a few seconds until Clark's composure broke first and a snort of laughter escaped him. Lois sniggered in response, and just like that, things felt back to normal.

"I don't know what happened just now." she commented.

"Me neither, but we don't have to talk about it for a while." Clark offered, essentially putting the moment behind him. He had gotten the words off his chest and there was nothing more he could do about it now. "So that Corben. He seems charming."

"Oh, very. As charming as a papercut."

"And your dad tried to match-make you with him?"

"Yeah _-_ \- hey, what?"

Lois blinked and turned to confront him directly (that was less a slip and more like an indication that he was about to throw in the towel), but the lights of the auditorium dimmed and the microphone on the podium was tapped to get everyone's attention. Standing on the stage was Hope, Luthor's secretary at the front desk and the first official face people saw when they entered his building. Hope was a perky blonde ray of sunshine who typically preceded her employer in PR events.

Hope was also an auxiliary bodyguard who was trained in various forms of armed and unarmed combat, and Lois had once seen the stiletto-wearing woman take down a would-be assassin with her thighs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press," Hope started in the manufactured cheer of a Miss America pageant girl. "This is the moment you've been waiting for. Please welcome the man of the hour, Mr. Lex Luthor!"

The auditorium broke into wild applause as Lex Luthor emerged from the wings, striding onto the stage exactly like his suit was made of a million bucks, to the tune of the Metropolis University fight song. The choice of music was like he was trying to reassure the city that he was indeed one of its native-born sons.

Thirty-one years old, bald as a baby's backside since the age of nine, and strangely dashing, Luthor was a man of the decade. He was an astute businessman with a keen mind and a bright vision for the future. He had a deep baritone voice that made him easy to listen to and he spoke well at public events. He resonated better with his own age group rather than the young adults he hoped to inspire. They were young, middle-class Millennials coming out into a world that barely had room for them; something Luthor had never been and couldn't fathom experiencing.

It was part of the reason Lois didn't like Lex Luthor. He assumed too much about the generation she was a part of. Then again, she also acknowledged that her bias sometimes got her seeing problems that weren't actually there and reading too deeply into his body language and tone of voice. Certainly the law had not actually _caught_ him doing anything wrong.

On the other hand, she knew Luthor was that deceptive sort of evil. Very skilled at hiding the fact that he was morally bankrupt and wrapped up in too much money for it to be seen from the outside. A lot of people gave him the side-eye, but for the most part, they glossed him over because his villainy wasn't overt. He was a business man who protected his assets. Being slightly ruthless came with the territory and it was something that people accepted. He was a large cog in the machine of Metropolis. Just there. Ever-present and inevitable.

Luthor made a gesture to cut the music and stood behind the podium with a great flourish of his hands. The crowd quieted on command.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Lex Luthor Technology and Innovation Expo!" he said grandly, prompting further applause and cheering. "Before we get to what you all came here to see, I would like to thank everyone who made this happen."

He clapped his hands to lead another applause.

"The project I'm going to unveil is a culmination of a year's dedicated work. I would like to acknowledge the hard work of the project director, Mr. John Henry Irons, who could not be here today due to prior family commitments, but he sends his best regards and wished for me to extend his deepest gratitude to you all for coming out to witness this monumentous occasion. And his team, of course!" Luthor made a grand gesture to the group of a dozen or so people clustered to one side of the stage, who waved their hands and grinned broadly at the audience. "Without them, what you will see today would not have been possible."

There was another round of applause.

"Nine months ago, our eyes were opened to a world that was far wider than the one we were raised in, and I felt Metropolis tremble." Luthor began dramatically. "We became aware of our own mortality, our own humanity, our fragility. How do we fight a force that has proved to be so much greater than anything we have ever seen? How do we defend our home and our way of life against god-like strength?"

Lois jolted. "He's talking about Superman!" she hissed to Clark.

Clark frowned and regarded the man on stage with greater scrutiny. If he had been suspicious of Lex Luthor before, it was because of Lois's own concerns. But maybe now he had to give the man a harder second look.

"It is my very great pleasure to give you that answer." Luthor said. He stood aside from the podium and made gesture to the wings. The curtains started to part. "Today I unveil the newest technological advancement from the minds at LexCorp _-_ -"

The curtains opened fully.

"The Lexosuit one point oh!"

For how quickly the applause resumed, it was like it had never died.

On the stage were three of what could only be described as mecha suits. They were about eight feet tall. Two of them were heavily armored and bristling with weaponry. The soles of the boots were spiked, the vambraces featuring a razor edge, shoulder-mounted Gatling guns. They looked like they could take a bomb blast and get right back up. One was painted in military camouflage while the second was decorated with the colors and the decals of the Metropolis police department. The final suit was painted in the bright colors of Search and Rescue, instead featuring a winch and a tow cable in place of the Gatling guns. It was sturdier than the other two, far better designed for tromping around the wrecked places of the world looking for lost and missing people.

Lois frowned harder. "I don't like this." she whispered. "I don't know why. I just don't like this."

"I don't think I blame you." Clark admitted, leaning down to her ear. "I think he meant for those things to be able to match up to Superman."

"Worried now, Kent?"

"Made from a patented alloy, the Lexosuits are virtually indestructible." Luthor went on, proud of his new babies. "The test footage will be made available to anyone who wishes to view them in action. I do not think of them as weapons of war, but weapons to end war!

"As you can see, I mean to supply the Lexosuits to not just the military, but to the local law enforcement as well. The shape of crime is changing and Metropolis P.D. must be able to stay on top of the wave if they are to get ahead of it. The Lexosuits will allow them to do just that.

"Are there any questions?"

Lois thrust her hand into the air.

"Ah, the inevitable Miss Lane." Luthor commented. He seemed to smile fondly. "What is your question, Miss Lane?"

"There has been a four percent rise in violent crime every year since you took over LexCorp and many people attribute that to the growth of your company's weapons division. How do you respond to these accusations and how would you respond to the distinct possibility that the wrong people will get their hands on these suits? Particularly if you supply them to a place like Gotham." Lois inquired.

Luthor smirked. "As with any successful venture, you meet critics along the way. There are always individuals such as yourself, Miss Lane, who seek to discredit me because they don't feel my success has been earned."

Lois ground her teeth audibly. He hadn't even answered the question.

Clark raised his hand. "Mr. Luthor, it's worth noting that LexCorp has never made a venture like this before, nor has your company insinuated a venture like this in the past. You've implied that the impetuous was Superman, but would you still have gone through without him?"

"An excellent question, Mister _-_ \- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." Luthor commented.

"Kent. Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_."

"An excellent question, Mr. Kent." the businessman nodded. "This was actually in the development stages for quite some time, though Superman's arrival did catalyze our decision to move up the time-table. Without him, perhaps we wouldn't have unveiled it this year. But next year certainly."

"But your reason for it has absolutely nothing at all do with Superman otherwise, am I right?" Lois pressed. It wasn't a coincidence; he had already said as much.

"Now, now, Miss Lane, let's not make assumptions." Luthor chided, waggling a finger.

"With everything you just said, what kind of assumptions do you expect me to make?" Lois wondered, just a hint of annoyance in her tone. "You all but said it. You moved up the time-table because of Superman's arrival. You're rolling out virtually indestructible battle suits in order to combat Superman. You **mean** for those things to be able to take on Superman toe to toe."

Luthor smiled. "I wish nothing but the best for Metropolis, Miss Lane _-_ -"

The auditorium doors burst open _-_ \- _thrown_ open by barrel-like arms attached to an enormous purple monster that didn't even pause. It knew exactly where it wanted to go. Its round mouth gaped open in an eardrum-shuddering bellow. Legs like telephone poles shook the floor as the monster charged across the room, its mighty arms swinging wildly and knocking over anyone who was unlucky enough to not get out of the way in time. Lois jerked back as the purple and foul-smelling monster passed so close she felt the breeze of its swinging arm.

But Clark took the fist right into his chest, the air whooshing out of him as his body instinctively curled around the large knuckles. The expression on his face didn't suggest pain so much as surprise. The beast noticed him and paused just long enough to heave the reporter away like a softball. Clark was thrown far enough to hit the wall. And he hit that wall hard enough to go right through it.

Smashed through it, leaving a jagged hole and a shower of gray dust.

It was only then that someone started screaming and Lois realized that it was herself.

* * *

-0-

he's fine


	13. Bushwhacked

So I didn't complete NaNo this year and technically I kind of did. I got to day 16 before blegh'ing out with around 28,500 words. But I decided to tally up my total word count for the entire month. It came to 63,911 words. Spread across two separate WiPs. So I guess I did it.

And now this chapter.

I feel like I've been sitting on this chapter _five-ever_ you guys.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Bushwhacked

Luthor had liked Miss Lane since the first day she had gotten up in his face and laid out the many ways he was ruining Metropolis, with a fucking spreadsheet and a flow-chart outlining the corresponding data (to be honest, he would have hired her on the spot if he'd thought for a second she'd actually take the job). Truly, he had admired the way she had taken the time to lay out the argument. She was a bit annoying, but he couldn't help but respect her. She was always challenging him, re-ordering his plans, both long-term and short-term, to better accommodate her would-be interference. Her presence encouraged him to stay several steps ahead ahead of the competition, to shore up his weak points and leave nothing to chance.

There was something to be said about a woman like her.

He had never quite imagined hearing her scream, though.

Truthfully, it was the sound of one of the _Daily Planet_ 's staunchest, toughest reporters screaming in horror that startled Luthor more than the giant, purple, and slightly glowing monster that charged through the doors, knocking people aside. It was the reason that the monster was nearly at the stage, its grasping hands outstretched for him, before Luthor reacted.

"Activate, LX-1! Engage!" He ordered into the tiny radio speaker masquerading as a cuff-link.

This was the code-phrase that unlocked the control panel of the combat-ready military suit. Having climbed inside before the presentation, Sergeant Corben grinned and engaged the drive system. The suit's hydraulics kicked like a grasshopper, sending the heavy hunk of metal at the purple monster. The armored fists of the suit started to pound the monster's head with a force that should have turned it to pudding on the first few blows (but whatever Rudy Jones was now, he was made of stronger stuff than before).

Nothing cleared a room faster than danger, potential or realized. The first appearance of the purple monster and people had started running for the doors, but when Corben went to engage, that was when evacuation started in earnest.

It was a wild rushing tide that carried Lois out the nearest door of the auditorium, hands and elbows pushing into her sides and her back. She had to keep moving with it or she would get trampled. She fought against the crush and soon extricated herself from the stampede, stumbling out towards the edge where people weren't so closely packed together. She hurried around the corner to go and find Clark.

The pavilion had been built with the auditorium as the inner-most room. The exterior hallway wrapped halfway around and off it came a series of smaller rooms that could easily be used for small parties and group meetings. There were restrooms snuggled up at the end of the hall.

"Clark?" she called out.

Nothing answered her. There was no sign of any damage in the hallway; not so much as a crack in the wall, and therefore, no sign of Clark either. The only place he could have been was inside the restroom.

Lois gritted her teeth and ran down the hall, trying to tell herself that it was foolish to expect an answer. Clark had been thrown like a bowling ball through as least one wall; a ten full inches of reinforced concrete and rebar. The pavilion was supposed to double as a storm shelter, in the rare event the weather turned inclement enough. His bones would be fragments, his insides pulverized, his body broken. There was no way he could have survived it.

Because _what if he wasn't Superman_? What if Clark Kent was just an ordinary guy and what if she had just been following a long string of coincidences and what if Superman was really some bum who lived on the corner and wore nothing but a sandwich board warning folks about doomsday when he wasn't saving the day?

She had to be ready to accept that possibility too.

She had to be **willing** to accept it.

She wasn't.

"Clark?"

Lois scrambled into the ladies restroom, the closest to the auditorium. Sure enough, there was a large gash in the wall by the sinks. The toilet stalls had collapsed inwards, bent over by a very heavy weight. A set of blue-clad legs sprawled over the edge of a stall door, attached to pair of a not-so-shiny imitation leather loafers.

 _Clark._

A vice squeezed her chest. She could have screamed again.

"Clark!"

Ignoring the way her voice cracked, she crawled over the wreck of the bathroom stalls towards her partner. Clark was sprawled there, looking surprisingly not dead. Indeed, his chest still rose and fell visibly. He was covered in just gray concrete dust, in his clothes and his hair, though his jaw was clenched and his eyes squeezed shut as if he was in a great deal of pain nonetheless.

"Hey, Clark." Lois dropped down beside him and tapped his cheeks. His skin was warm and he was showing no signs of shock. That was good. "Clark, can you hear me? You with me down there?"

Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest, her nerves thrumming in agitation. Clark looked _fine_ ; that was the weird part. For a guy who had just been flung through a concrete wall hard enough to flatten the metal toilet stalls, there wasn't even a scrape on him. Hell, his glasses weren't even scratched.

"Clark?" Lois licked her dry lips. Her mouth was dry, her throat too.

What if she was wrong and Clark was bleeding internally on a massive scale? What if there was a chunk of rebar spearing through his back because he _actually wasn't Superman and wasn't indestructible_?

She patted him down, starting at his neck and down his well-muscled chest to the tapered waist, then down each of his muscular legs. She ran her hands down his arms, feeling the contours of the serious muscles he never showed off. But she didn't feel any broken bones anywhere or anything that might have speared through him not far enough to come out the other side. As far as she could tell, every inch of him was still where it was supposed to be.

"C'mon Smallville, you're too pretty to die this young. I haven't even asked you to dinner yet. I still need to make you my kick-ass stir fry." she whispered, throwing open his suit jacket and reached for the buttons of his shirt to check for bruising.

"...Lo's?..."

The breathy, half-coherent mutter of her name made Lois jump. She looked down at him properly and found his navy blue irises peering up at her questioningly, like he wasn't quite sure it was her. His eyes were hazy with every sign of confusion, possibly a concussion.

"...naan bread..." he mumbled.

"That's right, you still owe me a birthday dinner." Lois told him, feeling a bit weak with relief. Consciousness was a good sign. Recognizing her was an even better one. "You get the cake and the naan, I'll make the stir fry, and we'll do an evening out of it. We'll watch a movie. How do you feel about Godzilla? I'm sure there's at least one movie where he fought a giant purple ooze monster."

Clark's head was buzzing almost too much to really get a handle on what Lois was saying. Why on earth was she talking about Godzilla? His body hurt. Nothing was broken, but he had been flung _through_ a wall and blunt force trauma still _hurt_. The throb was disappating slowly, but it still bounced and rolled under his skin as though it was a living thing.

The top half of the suit had spread around his upper body just a moment before he'd hit the wall, in response to his sudden panic. He could feel the strange armor still clinging to him. In his semi-dazed state, he could hardly acknowledge it was there. Just Lois hovering over him like a hummingbird, her shaking fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

"Lois?..."

The concussion-like haze cleared instantly because Lois was there and trying to _get his shirt open and the suit was still active-_ \- He tried to sit upright, to stop her _this was too soon-_ -

"Clark, don't move!" Lois instructed, still panicked but controlling it marvelously, she felt. She didn't quite shove him back down. "For fuck's sake, you just got pinballed through a wall! You could be bleeding internally and not feeling it!" Her hands scrabbled around the buttons on his shirt and then she gave up trying to get them open one by one. "I'm going to look at your chest. Nothing feels broken, but I have to see it to know _-_ -"

"Lois, wait _-_ -!" Clark protested, flinging up a hand too late.

Lois ripped open his shirt, popping half the buttons off.

Time could have ground to a halt for all the reaction Lois gave at the sight of the scarlet and gold S-shield emblazoned on the field of royal blue, in plain sight across Clark's chest. Very slowly, she reached over and brushed the tips of her fingers against it. It was distinct roughness that she hadn't felt anywhere else in her lifetime. Not even Kevlar could manage the dichotomy of feeling like metal and fabric at the same time. She had been just inches away from this thing on many occasions _-_ \- half the time with her face pressed to it and she couldn't count the number of times she had run her fingers over it in the past nine months. There was no conceivable way she could mistake it.

This was no cheap imitation of Superman's suit. It wasn't a clever one. She was touching the real thing and Clark Kent was the person wearing it.

There was literally only one conclusion to come to.

Clark Kent was Superman.

Superman was Clark Kent.

Lois felt something bubble up in her chest that could have been the urge to laugh or cry or scream in frustration or relief. How long had she been trying to claim this very thing? Two months now. The entire summer. Ever since the Tweeds and then nothing else had added up unless you took it as Clark Kent was Superman.

But laid out in front of her like it was, she wasn't sure that she believed it.

Clark Kent was a farm boy dork who would grow tomatoes on an apartment terrace, but couldn't remember the train schedule to _any_ degree and still found hot dog vendors on the sidewalk to be a novel experience and when he took cabs, he ended up in a minute long ramble of trying to describe where he was going rather than giving an address or a nearby landmark. Clark Kent had been around the world and back but didn't have any exciting stories to tell, or he had exciting stories but refused to share them. Clark Kent had grown up in Kansas, in a ridiculous place called Smallville that she wanted to visit just because it sounded like a proper small town and not a suburb like Pittsdale and she was way too curious to know what it was like. He had lived an apple pie kind of life where "normal" also meant "so fucking vanilla white-bread it glows in the dark". Smallville did not sound like an exciting place to live, once you were past the doomsday cult and meteor showers.

Exciting things did not happen to this man on even an irregular basis.

But Clark Kent was Superman.

"Lois?" Clark prompted, starting to worry that he had broken her brain with this one.

Lois continued to absently stroke the suit with a look of concentration that was slowing veering into a sort of terror; the expression one wore when they had failed to fully grasp the enormity of the situation and were really just screaming internally.

"It's not what it looks like." Clark tried to tell her, very belatedly. But what the hell was he saying? _Of course_ it was what it looked like. Lois wasn't dumb and she had been suspecting him for a bit now.

That did the trick, however, to knock her out of her stupor. Lois looked up sharply, her glare as piercing as a needle.

"From this angle, there's only one thing it looks like, Smallville." she snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Or do I call you 'Superman'?"

He didn't say anything when she tugged at his glasses, coaxing them off his nose. His familiar navy blue eyes transformed into the equally familiar bright blue of Superman's eyes, right in front of her. Her brow furrowed, Lois pushed the glasses back up his nose, causing the irises to turn navy blue again. She pushed them down and the bright blue came back.

"What is the actual color of your eyes?" she asked.

"The bright blue. My glasses are lead-plated, transparent." Clark told her. "They dull the color. Everyone remembers the blue first."

"Your glasses are fake."

"Yeah."

"Your Hubble lenses are fake."

"Why do you sound disappointed?"

Lois scowled and shoved the glasses back up his nose. "You lied to me."

"Lois _-_ -" Clark bit his lip momentarily, adjusting the thick-rimmed spectacles so they sat more comfortably. "I haven't even known you a full year yet."

"Isn't nine months long enough?" Lois demanded, crossing her arms. "Were you ever planning to tell me or was this something you were just going to keep to yourself like a lying liar pants on fire _-_ -!"

She was, thankfully, interrupted by a really nasty crunching noise behind them in the auditorium. For a bizarre moment that would probably never come around again, Clark had never been so glad to hear a gargled scream of pain, as it reminded both of them that this was neither the time nor the place for discussion of the secret identity nature.

"I think there's something I should be taking care of." he said.

"Yeah..." Lois agreed, however reluctantly.

She shuffled back to her feet, picking a path out of the mangled toilet stalls. She didn't stick around to help him up and she even turned her back, but that would have to be addressed later. Clark stripped off his suit and shirt and pants, letting the suit spread out in full and the cape unfurled. He half-heartedly folded his clothes and tossed them on one of the sinks, placing the glasses on top.

"Lois..." he started, shrugging.

"Just go." Lois ordered. "Before someone kicks it. That scream didn't sound very good."

"We'll talk later." he offered.

Then he rushed off to the auditorium.

Superman raced into the auditorium in record time, though he took care to come in through the front door. Luthor and the team of techs were the only people who had remained behind, more or less sheltered in the wings of the stage. The huge purple creature was still there, standing victoriously over the mangled exo-suit and John Corben's body inside. A quick check showed that the sergeant was still alive, but the monster had done a number on him and if he didn't get medical help soon...

"Hey!" Superman called out, causing the beast to jolt in surprise.

It turned around to face him. It didn't have much of a face; an enormous gaping mouth lined in teeth that looked uncomfortably like that of a lamprey eel, and flat lavendar eyes that had a smaller darker spot that might have been a pupil. But they weren't the eyes of a mindless beast and it was far more than just rudimentary intelligence that lurked there.

Superman scanned it with x-ray vision. The skeletal structure inside was grossly misshapen, but otherwise human in its general construction. Skull, backbone, a barrel-shaped ribcage that went all the way down to the massive pelvic bones. Almost zilch on internal organs too. The lungs were there in a more or less familiar shape, and the brain looked like it had been turned sideways in the skull, but still mostly the same in size. The creature didn't so much have an intestinal tract as it had an enormous sack in its belly that contracted and released like a heart, with fluid spurting into the body on every contraction.

Oh! That was a sight he could have done without!

"What are you?" he whispered, mostly to himself. Not human, for sure. That was as much as Superman could guess at a glance.

The purple monster was standing quite close to the exo-suit, close enough to give it a good kick. The first priority that Superman had was to get the monster away from the exo-suit so the techs could get to Corben and get him out of there.

 _After that, I-_ - _defeat it? I suppose..._

What was he supposed to do with it if and when he subdued it?

The purple monster's mouth opened and it made a sucking noise similar to a slurp. The flat eyes roved over Superman's form and he could see the greedy glitter from thirty feet away. He had a skin-crawling feeling that it would have licked its lips if its tongue had allowed for that. It wasn't just intelligence in those flat eyes.

There was hunger too.

Mindless, unsated hunger.

The monster let out a noise that sounded like an avalanche and charged in his direction. It was fast despite how lumbering it moved and Superman was already acquainted with its strength; enough to knock him through a wall. But he held his ground, since it was coming at him and therefore away from Corben. He was prepared for that strength this time.

The purple beast swung a fist the size of a manhole cover. Superman caught the punch in his hands and rolled with the impact, throwing the monster past him and sank a punch right between where the shoulder blades probably were. His punch sank all right. Despite the skeletal structure, he might as well have punched at bouncy rubber to the same effect.

The creature grunted, a sound like two rocks scraping together, but it didn't seem hurt. It whirled around, lashing out with an open palm. Superman raised his arms in time, in the blocking manuever that Lois had spent weeks teaching him. Her tutelage paid off and even with his feet not touching the floor, Superman knew how to brace himself against the impact. The blow echoed all the way up to his shoulders and left his joints feeling slightly rattled, but it didn't knock him down as it once might have.

 _Right, physical strength isn't going to get me anywhere in a hurry._ Superman knew, still pushing back nonetheless. _Suppose I run down the list of what I can do and see what has the best effect._

Across the auditorium, Luthor watched the fight with undisguised fascination. He had seen Superman in action before, but always from a distance. Always on video several hours old. Rarely in real time and never so _close_.

He was _magnificent_.

A picture perfect portrait of human perfection.

Would-be human perfection.

He was an alien and yet so human in his appearance. The physiological differences were not immediately apparent. He had the same number of fingers and presumeably toes as well. Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth all in the familiar positions. The musculature and what of the skeletal structure that Luthor could see was very much identical to a human's.

How _fascinating_.

Did the Kryptonian and the human races have a common evolutionary demoninator? So far back in the foggy mists of time uncounted, had they once been the same species? From the same branch of the evolutionary tree? There were so many questions to be asked, so many mysteries about Superman to explore. The answers themselves might change the very fabric of mankind. Imagine what Luthor might be able to do if he could harness and control even a fraction of Superman's potential. Planet Earth would never be the same.

Look at how he just glided! He moved through the air with the grace of any career ballet dancer. A little uncoordinated in his boxing swings, perhaps, but he combined with the aerial movement well enough. He was quite fast too. When he didn't catch the sledgehammer punches, he moved out of the way so swiftly the edges of his form blurred. As he moved, he kept the creature moving away from Corben.

He was giving them an opening.

Luthor glanced down the stage where the techs cowered in the opposite wing, equal parts terrified, speechless, and awed.

"Well? What are you waiting for?!" he snapped at them. "Get Sergeant Corben out of there! He needs medical attention! And get the exo-suit out of there! We can salvage that!"

They shared apprehensive looks, but Lex Luthor was not a man to be disobeyed. One of the three women in the group slipped off the stage first and dropped low to the floor to crawl across it. Not about to let their egotistical pride be upstaged by two X-chromosones, the men started to follow.

If Luthor had been any less of a dignified individual, he might have rolled his eyes. But he wasn't going to indulge in such a base act that was reserved for teenagers and catty reporters. He left the techs to the task of retrieving Corben and lowered himself from the stage. Cautiously, he crept towards the fight.

He wanted a closer look.

He might never get another chance like this.

Superman delivered a one-two combo to where his x-ray vision told him the knees were and the tree trunk legs buckled. The purple monster staggered and hit the floor with a shaking thud, but it didn't _stay_ down. It heaved itself back to its feet and turned to face him again.

 _This isn't working!_ Superman gritted his teeth. The rubbery body absorbed every single one of his blows. He wasn't doing the thing any real damage. Nothing that would slow it down for more than a few seconds.

The monster's mouth widened in an obvious smile. "That all you got?" it asked in a gutteral voice like scraping rocks.

"Not necessarily." Superman hedged.

He did have his heat vision, but he was reluctant to use that. It burned blue-white these days and if he remembered his college science classes right, that was roughly twenty-six hundred degrees Farenheit. He knew the kind of damage it could leave on another Kryptonian and he could guess what it could do to a human, but this purple thing was an unknown.

"That's all you got." the monster said smugly.

"Don't count me out just yet." Superman advised.

He was going to have to take a leap of faith (of a sort) here and see what happened. He flew back several paces, the familiar heat gathering in and around his eyes, and tried to concentrate on a lower temperature. The heat blasted out of his eyes in tight, concentrated beams, a little more yellow-ish than white this time.

The beams hit the purple monster square in its chest area with enough force to knock it backwards and it roared, that rocky avalanche noise again. Superman thought he heard something sizzling, but there was nothing to smell except the ozone. The beast twisted and its mouth gaped open, large and round and brimming with more teeth than the Osmond family. Superman saw it duck its head into the path of the heat beams _-_ -

 _-_ -swallowed the beams?

He broke off the attack in shock.

"Did you just _-_ \- _eat_ that?" he demanded in horrified disgust.

The monster shrugged, looking sort of thoughtful. The tip of the slug-like tongue lapped at its lips.

"Tangy." it declared.

For a second, Superman didn't move save for a shiver of horror. The purple monster had _swallowed_ heat beams with a two thousand plus degree temperature and it pronounced them to be 'tangy'?

 _Heat is just energy. Does it-_ -

"Lex Luthor!" the purple monster bellowed, flat lavendar eyes narrowing on a point somewhere behind Superman. The Kryptonian whirled around and saw Luthor trying to creep a little closer unnoticed, unsucessfully.

"What are you doing?!" Superman shouted, appalled by the man's nerve.

"Don't look at me, idiot!" Luthor shouted back.

It took Superman a second to work out who the businessman was yelling at, but by the time he did, it was too late to act. Two enormous hands grabbed him by the cape and yanked him out of the air with whiplash force. He thought, fleetingly, it would have broken his neck if he'd been normal, but the thought was smashed out of his head when he met the concrete floor face-first. The purple monster stomped on his back, driving him a little deeper into the floor, and made its way towards Luthor.

For his part, Luthor didn't cringe or cower or lose his head. He had always been able to keep a calm demeanor in any situation; his father's son to the bone and back again. He glanced away from the monster's approach just long enough to check on the techs (they were pulling and pushing the exo-suit to the stage ramp _-_ \- and bits of it were falling off _-_ \- they would get Corben out later). They were doing exactly what they needed to be doing and nothing more.

"Mr. Luthor!" the monster growled. "This is your doing! You did this to me!"

Luthor scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about." he snapped, beginning a retreat. He was not a dumb man. He was not going to boldly stand his ground against something that was eight feet tall, built more solidly than a brick shit-house, and had put the "Man of Steel" into the floor. It didn't seem to have suffered any lasting damage from the laser eyes either.

"I'm sure, however, that a team of my analysts could figure out what's been done to you _-_ -" he started.

"No, no! This isn't a mistake you get to fix and then brush off like it never happened!" the monster roared, advancing. "I'm going to make you pay for what happened to me! I'll make everyone pay!"

Superman raised his head and shook the concrete bits out of his hair. His skull was ringing a little from the hit. A flash of color against the dull concrete wall of the auditorium caught his eye and he glanced over to see Lois, hovering just beside the doors with his clothes folded over one arm and her phone in her hand. The red recording light blinked.

 _Lois Lane, the intrepid reporter._

He glanced the other way. Luthor was backing up, but the monster was advancing with every step. It tilted its head back, proving that it had sort of a neck, and opened its mouth wide. And then wider. The lower jaw appeared to unhinge and split apart into two separate halves connected by a web of skin. Like a snake's mouth. It gave Luthor a good look all the way down the monster's throat and the three rows of teeth that circled the full circumfrence of the creature's mouth.

"Oh no..." Luthor said quietly. A weak feeling jellied into his knees.

"Mr. Luthor!"

Superman catapulted himself up from the floor and across the auditorium. Without thinking about it first, he got between Luthor and the purple monster, and grabbed its face with both hands. The large head twisted on its thick neck and, somehow, the monster had enough leverage to sink its three rows of teeth into Superman's arm. They didn't puncture his skin - nothing did. But it was what happened immediately after that was most alarming.

He started to feel _very weak_ very suddenly.

Rudy Jones was in ecstacy. He reeled from the sudden rush of exquisite energy that filled the gaping maw of his stomach. If the cop from the river-side had been like lava from the earth, then Superman was like a super-nova. He wasn't star-stuff. He was an entire galaxy of stars. He wasn't the burning core of the planet, but the burning core of trillions of planets! He was the solar winds of a million suns, sweeter and hotter than anything Rudy had ever tasted in his short, bland life. The spark of Superman's life flared like a hundred million auroras. The glow of every star in the night sky. That cop had been a piddling little stream during a drought compared to the great thundering Inga Falls that was Superman.

Luthor took advantage of the moment to run. He sprinted away. He had seen plenty from a close distance. Hell, he had gotten too close. He would go through the security footage later and see what there was to see.

Superman needed a moment to process what was going on. The teeth that were actually sinking into his arm. He could feel those needle-points beginning to pierce his skin and draw blood. He felt like a reservoir of water, but all the floodgates were open and everything was emptying from him. An endless rapid rush that he was helpless to stop.

 _Energy... It feeds on energy. It's like a... a parasite._

And if he didn't do something to make it let go, it was going to keep draining him until there was nothing left.

Superman gritted his teeth and fired a burst of his heat vision. It was a lot harder than usual and the beams came out a cherry red color. That couldn't be good. They hadn't been that color since he was sixteen, when the heat vision had first manifested.

But they were still hot and the monster was so close there was no way he could miss. The beams hit the top of its bald head and it released his arm with a surprised squawk. Superman let go of it as well and darted backwards. He didn't stay in the air as planned, though. His flight flickered like a faulty lightbulb and then dropped out and his heels hit the floor. The weakness went deeper than the partial collapse of his powers; it went into his muscles as well. For a second too long, his legs refused to hold him and he dropped to the floor in a slump.

His arm was bleeding. He saw that for just a second before the holes in the suit sealed over by themselves and the armor tightened just slightly, applying pressure to the wounds.

Several feet away, the monster drew a hand across its lips.

"That was a rush." it groaned ecstatically. "You're like a nine-course meal of the best steak in the world! I heard you weren't human, but that just proved it! The cop didn't taste like that! Marty didn't taste like that! They were like _-_ \- like brussel sprouts! Raisins! I hate raisins!"

"Who are you? What are you?" Superman asked, not sure which question was more important. His closed fist seemed to shake.

"What I am, I don't know anymore." the monster admitted. "'Cause there's no way I'm human!" It laughed uproariously. "Who am I? I think that's changed too. I don't really feel like 'Rudy Jones' anymore, you know?"

"And who was Rudy Jones?" Superman asked. In his peripheral vision, he saw the techs finally drag the exo-suit and Corben along with it out of sight behind the stage curtain.

"Oh, no one in particular. A _loser_." the purple beast sneered. "The world's better off without him."

"That's not true! You don't know what you could have contributed to the world!" Superman said.

"What I could have contributed? God, don't you sound like a motivational infomercial." The monster's eyes didn't roll, but the motion of the head conveyed that just the same. "For your information, Superman, Rudy Jones lost everything that ever made him a worthwhile person the moment he grabbed that diploma back in high school. He might as well have died right then for all the impact he made on the world. That's how pathetic a man I used to be."

It grabbed Superman by the cape again and hauled him up to that flat purple face.

"Rudy Jones was a spineless coward who got himself into a bad mess and became something else. Something different. Something stronger." The thing that was once Rudy leered and a chill trembled down Superman's spine. "Past-me finally made the best decision for future-me."

"That's not true." Superman said, teeth gritted. "I don't think you had a choice in the matter at all. No sane person makes the choice to become a purple people eater."

The monster tilted its head. "Well... You're probably right about that." it conceded. "But I finally got dealt a pretty good hand. I've got your strength now. I can _feel_ it. I feel like I can do anything!"

And it hurled Superman halfway across the auditorium. The spinal helix worked frantically, trying to push out any measure of counter-force. His own muscles seemed to strain with the herculean task. But he landed with a heavy crash that went all the way through him, into the bits and pieces that had come off the exo-suit, and he skidded into a fragment of a green stone.

A bone-deep weariness bit into him like fangs and what little energy he had left was suddenly sapped out of him. A burning itch started from below one shoulder blade and spread quickly across his back. He tried to move, but it felt like some great big weight was sinking down onto him - legs useless, fingertips numb, and his vision graying at the edges.

 _What's happening to me?..._

"What's a matter? Can't move?" the purple monster crooned in a mockingly sympathetic tone. "Here, let me help you with that!"

Ham-like hands fisted into his cape again and Superman was hoisted above the monster's head as easily as though he was a ragdoll. It bellowed out a triumphant laugh.

"So easy! So easy! Look how weak you are!" it crowed. "Let's see how well you fly now!"

It flung him like a stone straight up through the skylight windows thirty feet overhead. Superman crashed through the glass and into the bright lunch-hour sunlight, arcing out with the blue sky gleaming above him. Instantly, the burning itch on his back subsided to a more tolerable level and the numbness fled his fingertips.

 _Sunlight... of course..._

The yellow sun gave him his powers.

The few times he had felt under the weather in his life, sitting down in a patch of sunlight had always made him feel better. He had always thought it was just a placebo effect, of a sort. He had always known where the sun was in the sky _-_ \- rising, setting, high noon. He had always felt like a lodestone homing in on that big ball of gas.

But now he knew better.

 _Just a little... Just a little, that's all..._

The helix of fibers along his spine _-_ \- millions of years of Kryptonian evolution that allowed them to alter the gravity immediately around them _-_ \- pushed out the necessary counterforce, however weakly. He didn't immediately plunge to the ground like a stone, but he didn't fall like a feather either. The ground was far from soft. Landing was still jarring and sure to leave bruises. He bounced once and rolled to a halt some distance away.

For a second, all Superman could do was lay there with the smell of new grass in his nose and the sunlight subduing the itch on his back while he waited for his head to quit spinning. He didn't get to wait long enough. With a whoosh of air and a shaking ***thud*** , the parasite monster landed nearby. The adrenaline got Superman moving, but it didn't feel like enough. His arms shook, his legs wobbled, and at the moment, he didn't think he could do anything more than heave himself backwards, much less off the ground. The monster made its slurping noise again as it approached him.

"You've still got some juice left in you." it commented. "Mind if I take it? I promise I'll use it wisely."

"You have to stop this. Nothing good is going to come of it!" Superman shouted, though not entirely sure why he was saying, but _anything_ slow the beast down.

"Really? I beg to differ, _Superman_." the purple monster scowled. "Just because life was good to you from the start doesn't mean it was so easy for the rest of us! With all that power, you have an _obligation_ to help the rest of us little guys! Starting with me!"

It made to grab at him, but with perfect cinematic timing, a yellow-orange taxi plowed into its legs. The parasite monster was knocked off its huge feet and the taxi, miraculously, didn't sputter and die, but continued to drive forward with all the dogged determination of the person behind its wheel _-_ \- none other than Lois.

She plowed over the purple monster until it was twenty feet away and then gunned the taxi into reverse. Its brakes squeaked as she pulled up alongside him, already shifting the gear back into drive.

"Get in!" she ordered.

Superman didn't need to be told twice. He could have yanked the door off for as quickly as he plunged into the back seat. Lois put the gas pedal all the way to the floor and screamed off the lawn just as soon as the door was shut and Superman collapsed onto the sticky vinyl of the seat. He sagged, torn on whether that feeling was relief, surprise, or resignation.

They bumped over the sidewalk curb and sped across the parking lot beside the pavilion out into the road. Lois checked her mirrors for any sign of pursuit from the big purple people eater, then really noticed Superman in the back. He looked wrecked.

She had seen some of her fellow reporters pull all night benders with crap food and energy drinks, and they showed up the next morning looking like their own computer had beaten them soundly in consecutive wrestling matches. Glassy bloodshot eyes, pasty skin tones, and a sense that they were either going to collapse in a dead faint or spend the rest of the day in a state of manic energy.

Clark _-_ \- Superman? _-_ \- looked like he was going to collapse in a dead faint.

"Smallville, you are the _worst_." Lois muttered.

Superman opened one eye to regard the back of her head and smiled faintly. She had come to his rescue and she had called him 'Smallville'. If she was really actually mad at him, she would have used his last name. Instead, she had used her own version of the affectionate nickname.

She couldn't be _that_ mad at him.

* * *

-0-


	14. Tradition

You know when you have those days when times loses meaning and you wake up on Saturday thinking it's still Thursday?

Yeah, that was last week for me.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Tradition

When Superman opened his eyes again, it was to see the chewing gum-dotted ceiling of the taxi cab. He blinked muzzily, wondering for a long few seconds what the hell he was doing in the back of a taxi that was sticky and smelled like grease. It was too small for him to lay out flat _-_ \- his head was propped awkwardly on the door handle behind him, his knees were jammed up against the opposite door.

Then he remembered. Lois had sprung to his rescue after the parasite monster's attack had made flying or any other form of self-propulsion out of the question.

Thank god for Lois Lane.

The taxi was holding together even despite the fender-first charge Lois had put it through. They were pretty durable, all things told. There was a slight whine to the engine that Superman didn't think had been there before, but it didn't sound on the verge of collapsing.

Himself, on the other hand...

They were heading... south, if he wasn't mistaken _-_ \- out of West River. And if he wasn't mistaking the form of suburbia that passed the window, they were skirting around the edge of Highville.

"Smallville, you still with me back there?" Lois asked from the front, glancing into the rearview mirror. His eyes were open, so that was something.

"Lo's, where're we goin'?" he asked.

His voice should definitely not be slurring that much. He felt like a marvelous pile of shit.

"Your place. It's closer."

"It didn't follow?..."

"No, we got away scot-free on this one." Lois replied, relieved. "What the hell was that thing?!"

"Um... I think it used to be Rudy Jones..." Superman said, rubbing his forehead. Was that a headache up there? That tightness behind his eyes and a dull pressure along the crown of his head? Was that was a headache felt like?

"Who the hell is Rudy Jones?" Lois wondered, frowning.

Superman offered up a mumble and a shrug.

"Wow. Whatever happened, it did a number on you." Lois commented, both awed and maybe a tad terrified. "You're normally more loquacious than that. And more lively. Clark, what the hell?"

It was a broad rhetorical question, which was fine because Superman didn't have an answer. He had been broadsided just the same as everyone else. He might have to take the "always know everything all the time" aspect out of superheroing.

The good news was that he felt a little better than he had ten or fifteen minutes ago. The itchiness had subsided significantly and the crippling weariness was fading, and he didn't feel quite so wobbly anymore. It might last just long enough to make it home.

"Lois, pull over." he said, struggling to uncramp himself from the small space.

"What?"

"Find a side-street an' pull over."

"You gonna try and fly home, hayseed? You look like how my last college bender felt." Lois pointed out.

"I can make it." Superman said, a tad stubbornly. "But you can't roll up to my building in a stolen taxi with me in the back seat. That'll look like... like something."

"Like something..." the dark-haired reporter repeated under her breath, but she turned into a narrow alley that was just two tire ruts and some grass, where the neighbors had built tall fences to block each other's view.

Unable to dislodge himself without proper leverage, Superman reached behind his head and pulled the door catch, and managed to slither out of the back seat onto a mixture of grass and gravel. He didn't give himself the chance to really fall and _pushed_. The counterforce was stronger than he expected and he ended up thudding into the tall fence behind him, but upright and on his feet. Lois shoved open the driver's side door and was halfway out of the seat to assist him before he raised a hand to forestall her.

"I'm all right."

"Bullshit."

"I can make it home." Superman insisted.

"I'm still calling bullshit." Lois muttered. She reached down in the seat beside her, transferred something from one hand to the other, and thrust his phone at him.

"What?"

"Clark, I don't want to ditch the taxi and get all the way to your place just to find out you got your ass stuck in a tree. Wouldn't that be embarrassing after all those cats you rescued." Lois said, getting out of the car to physically put the phone in his hand. "I don't care if you text me gibberish, just text me when you actually get home so I know you're safe."

There was no hidden meaning to parse out in that sentence; Lois was getting a lot better at speaking plainly rather than making people read between the lines.

"Now if you **do** get your ass stuck in a tree, text me anyways and I'll come get you." she added.

Superman frowned.

"Don't look at me like that, Smallville. Right now, I'm the only supporting team member you got."

"We're a team now?" he asked.

Lois poked him in the chest. "We've been a team for a while. Just because I found out you're moonlighting as a superhero doesn't make things any different."

Superman wasn't so sure about that, mostly because Lois hadn't gotten everything off her chest yet. There was no way she was taking everything that had just happened with good grace and no shouting. That would come later, after he had had a few hours to recover. Lois didn't jump on her friends while they were down.

"Thank you for having my back." Superman said gratefully.

"Hey, you're not in the clear yet!" Lois warned, poking his chest again. "We've still got _a lot_ to talk about."

She poked his chest one more time, less for effect and more because she wanted to.

Superman nodded and pushed off gently from the ground. He was twenty feet into the air when it started to feel like a mistake. Like runner trying to keep going when he was clearly at the end of his rope. It was a dreadful amount of effort.

 _It's second nature... But it's still effort._ He thought. The sun helped. He hoped it would be enough.

Superman had approached his building from the air enough times that finding it wasn't difficult. The landmarks stuck out enough. There was a water tower a few blocks down from it. The J-train line ran through the neighborhood a five-minute walk to the east.

It was a small complex of three buildings that might have been office buildings or warehouses from the days just after World War II. They were older buildings, definitely, featuring the industrial ambiance of exposed pipe-work, brick walls, and concrete floors. Several years before he had moved in, the buildings had been renovated to update the fixtures and the heating and plumbing, and they had laid a rustic laminate hardwood over the concrete floors. The best feature were the balcony decks and Superman tried not to crash into his when he landed. His knees buckled all the same and he tumbled onto the hard stone.

He huffed out a relieved breath that he had made it without falling out of the sky in the process and rolled over. Immediately, he was confronted with big blue eyes and a pinkish brown nose that quivered rapidly.

"Hey... Krypto, I'm okay." Superman half-whispered, raising a hand to the dog's shoulder. The white fur was warm; he must have been laying in the sun.

' _Liar.'_ Krypto snorted. There was a hurt scent and something strangely acidic smell that the dog couldn't place. It was a _bad_ smell.

"Okay, I lied." Superman admitted. Krypto was too smart to believe a lie. "But I'll be okay. Just give me a few hours and I'll be on my feet again."

He hoped.

He got back to his feet much more easily this time, if only because Krypto was helping him up, supporting him exactly when his knees wobbled too much. He slid open the patio door and went inside. His apartment was a studio with a partition wall separating the living areas from the bedroom area. It could technically be considered a one-bedroom, but it had been advertized as a studio.

"I've gotta lay down." he told Krypto. "Could you let Lois in when she gets here?"

The dog rumbled an affirmative.

Disengaging the suit at last, Clark stumbled towards his bed. The suit peeled back, leaving him in his boxers. It was some kind of nano-tech; he had blanked out the explanation from the A.I.s - the science was _beyond_ him. All he really knew was that the suit would react to a mental command and when not in use, it stored itself in the House sigil badge. The suit would activate as long as he wore the badge against his bare skin, so he'd had it converted into an unobtrusive pendant.

He stripped that off and managed to get a shirt on before his eyes started crossing. Flying home all the way from the edge of Highville had definitely been a mistake. He should have waited until they were closer.

But whatever. There was his bed and it took zero effort to simply fall on it. Whether he fell asleep or passed out again didn't particularly matter. The world faded out and his last thought was: _I forgot to text her..._

* * *

Even if no one except Lois and a handful people who read her blog really considered LexCorp a monument to a bald man's ever-expanding ego, there was no denying that Luthor loved to use his first name as a prefix (the major subsidaries were called LexComp, LexChemical, LexEl Investments, LexMart, LexComm, FedLex, LexOil, LexAir, and TelLex). It was a branding model that he had picked up from Wayne Enterprises and found that it suited him quite well.

In the four years since he had taken over the company, the conglomerate company had grown in leaps and bounds, becoming more prosperous with each quarter and expanding further and further overseas. Luthor envisioned a long and healthy future for the company. In time, he might even come to rival the expansive empire of Wayne Enterprises.

That was ultimately his goal: to topple the king of the heap from its throne. That was going to be a long process. Wayne Enterprises had existed in one form or another since 1610, when family founder Elias Wayne (the surname then spelled Waines) had started a brisk shipping business between the nascent Gotham and the Dutch colonies to the north.

At three hundred and ninety-seven years old, Wayne Enterprises had had a long time to build itself a solid, unshakable foundation.

Still, Luthor was as patient as he was ambitious.

The LexCorp tower was ninety-six floors and stood nearly a mile tall. The top three floors were the executive levels. It contained the boardrooms, a private cafeteria and kitchen, the executive offices, a solarium, a swanky living room set-up, a wet-bar, and a six thousand gallon saltwater fish tank complete with a reef and more colorful tropical fish than one could shake a stick at. It was roughly the size of a twelve by twelve room. It bordered one wall of Luthor's office and the other wall of the conference room next door. Skylight windows above it allowed sunlight in at all hours of the day. He shelled out frankly egregious amounts of money to keep the tank clean and the fish fed and healthy.

It was a luxurious indulgence from anyone else's point of view, but Luthor had had it installed because he found it calming.

He watched the fish school back and forth as the early afternoon set in, the water sending the sunlight rippling along the far wall of his office. He sat there on the couch with none of the lights on, just enjoying the ambiance the tank provided. His thoughts always melted away, taking any stress with it. It cleared his head. And when his head was clear, solutions came to him all the easier.

There was a knock at the door.

Only Mercy or Hope had the privilege of intruding on his quiet time.

"Come in." he called out softly.

Mercy stepped in, stealthy and light-footed, as was the norm for her.

"Sir, I apologize for the disruption." she said in a low voice. "But I have collected the relevant security footage from the West River Park pavilion. I thought you might like to view it immediately."

"Ah, thank you Mercy." Luthor said, looking away from the tank to accept the memory stick she proffered to him. "Is there anything else?"

"The exo-suit is not salvageable. There is too much damage to the internal struts to make repairing it worthwhile. The team believes it would be easier to scrap it for its parts and build a new one." Mercy said.

"I see." Luthor pondered for a moment. "Yes, I'll authorize that as soon as they can get me the paperwork. What of Sergeant Corben?"

"Sergeant Corben is currently in surgery. General Lane would like to speak to you when you have a moment to spare." Mercy informed him. "The viability of Sergeant Corben's condition will become clear once the doctors are certain how he will respond to the treatment. Personally, I do not think the outcome will be a positive one."

Luthor nodded. She was generally right in her predictions. If there was one thing Mercy knew better than anything else, it was how the human body reacted to extensive damage. If she predicted a low chance of survival, then Corben would only pull through on spit and a prayer.

"Thank you Mercy. Please inform General Lane that I have been shanghai'd into a series of exhaustive meetings as a result of today's events and thus I will not be able to meet with him until later this evening." Luthor instructed. His afternoon was empty, but he was not going to jump at the general's command. "And please place a lunch order for me. I'm feeling something of a hankering for Thai."

"Yessir, Mr. Luthor." Mercy tapped her closed fist off her chest and bowed her head. It was a curious little gesture unique to both her and Hope, and he wondered sometimes where they had picked it up.

He waited until Mercy had closed the door and then picked up the tablet computer beside him, tapping the screen to awaken it out of stand-by. He slotted the memory stick into the USB port and waited for it to load its contents. The relevant footage began just before the purple monster entered the pavillion. The outdoor camera showed that it actually opened the exterior doors, albeit somewhat clumsily (those huge fingers weren't meant for delicate work). Once in foyer, it loosely shook itself and then charged at the next set of doors with the battering ram force of an old football player.

Luthor watched the monster charge up the length of the auditorium, knocking Miss Lane's journalism partner out of the way in the process. Corben in the Lexosuit rushed to engage. Luthor had already seen that fight and he still winced the second time around. The suit was definitely a little sluggish in a real combat situation. He'd tell the techs that they needed to see about increasing the reaction time.

Things didn't get interesting until Superman showed up. Luthor watched the fight play out once in its entirety. Superman never quite got the upper hand. The monster appeared somewhat resistant to his punches and yes, it did indeed swallow the eye-beams. From there, Superman seemed too distracted by this turn of events to meet the purple monster on even footing. Luthor allowed himself a sympathetic wince when the Man of Steel was whipped into the floor.

 _He's still new to this. His form is raw and only somewhat polished. This is a man who's not entirely sure that he knows what he's doing._

Luthor watched his past-self back away from the monster. The camera angle wasn't right to catch the sight of those unhinging jaws, but it still stuck in his memory. Things got a lot more interesting when Superman inserted himself in between the monster and the businessman.

This next part was the part Luthor hadn't seen, since he had taken the opportunity to run for it. The monster bit down on Superman's arm and just like that, the alien visibly appeared to get weaker.

"Fascinating." Luthor murmured.

He watched the exchange play out as Superman and the monster talked. If Superman had been trying to talk the thing down, he'd been unsuccessful. The purple creature hurled him across the auditorium.

The reaction from Superman was intriquing. The moment he landed, his face blanched white and his back arched like he had landed on something sharp. The expression on his face wasn't one of pain, but certainly intense discomfort. Then he sagged, seeming to wither.

Luthor paused the video.

"And what happened there?" he asked himself. "What made you react like that?"

He replayed that segment of video twice more until he saw that the area where Superman landed was right where the exo-suit had been minutes earlier. The purple monster had gone to town on the suit and there were bits of metal scattered around where it had fallen. But if Superman was as bullet-proof as every eyewitness account claimed, there was no way that any scrap of pointy metal could have caused him discomfort.

It was something else.

Luthor pursed his lips thoughtfully.

Then he took the video back and advanced it frame by frame until he had a clear view of the scraps. He selected the frame and enhanced the image until the every metal bit was in clear detail. But there was one bit that wasn't metal. In the full-color display, it was a fragment of green.

A tiny piece of the green stone they had been using to power the suit.

"Well... well... well..." Luthor said slowly. A smile grew across his face. "You _do_ have a weakness."

When he had first learned the power potential of that green rock, he had known it would change everything. But this was _so much more_ than he had expected. And such a welcome thing it was! That little green rock had the potential to stop Superman in his tracks.

If Luthor was right, they finally had a viable weapon against him. This unstoppable giant among humanity wasn't so unstoppable. With that little rock, Luthor could assure the safety of the people of Metropolis and of the world.

Superman was defeatable.

Weak.

 _Vulnerable_.

"This changes _everything_."

* * *

Waking up was a slow process that Clark didn't exactly want to engage in. It meant waking up at all _-_ \- coming back to full coherency and all the aches that accompanied it. But several bodily functions were clamoring for attention and it would get very uncomfortable to ignore them for much longer.

Stiffly, Clark raised his head off the pillow. He was laying on his back, allowing him to look down the length of his bed. He was on top of his blanket, but the lightweight one normally draped over the back of his couch had been spread across his legs. For a second, he wasn't sure how it had gotten there. Then he heard a clatter of dishes from the kitchen area and remembered: _Lois_.

He had forgotten to text her.

No wonder she was still here.

"Lois?" he called out tentatively, managing to sit up a little.

"Smallville? You awake in there?" Lois called back from the other room.

"Are you making food?" he asked. He could hear the sizzle of cooking oil and smelled spices and poultry.

"Kick. Ass. Stir-fry." Lois said, punctuating each word. "And I like it spicy. Not that it means anything to you. Your tongue is just as indestructible."

Clark shrugged. True, he didn't really have a strong reaction to spices. Dooley's extra-triple-spicy Headliner Chicken Wings were nothing to him. The major newspaper companies of Metropolis held an annual chili-eating contest for charity and Clark had beaten the four-time champion, eating his way through increasingly atrocious concoctions. It wasn't until he'd gotten to the chili that included the Red Savina pepper that his eyes had started to prickle.

"Think you could stomach it?" Lois wondered. "I mean, are you hungry? I wasn't sure if you would be, but it's dinner time anyways. So food if you want it."

"I'll think about it." Clark groaned. He wasn't sure how the smell was making him feel, but common sense insisted that he eat something.

He heaved himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom on the other side of the room. His steps were slow and shuffling but he made it before his bladder took matters into its own hands.

Once he was done with the necessaries, he paused in front of the mirror to look himself over. His face had some color in it again and he didn't look or feel like death warmed over. The bite mark on his arm had healed over as he'd slept. He turned and lifted his shirt to look at his back and hissed. The skin was reddened and splotchy with small blisters. It looked like he had contracted a poison ivy rash. There was a tightness to the skin that reached all the way up to the bottom ridge of his shoulder blades and the redness disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

 _Where the heck did that come from?_

It didn't itch and it didn't _look_ bad, but he would keep an eye on it. He dropped his shirt and slipped on a pair of loose pajama pants so he wasn't walking around in his underwear.

He shuffled out to living area. Krypto rose up from the floor to greet him and a throw pillow bounced off his chest.

"I know. We have a lot to talk about." he said.

"Damn straight!" Lois snapped. "First, let me clear an item or two off your conscience. I went to see Colletta _-_ -"

"Is she _-_ -"

"She's fine. Awake for half an hour before I got there and flirting with her nurse by the time I did." Lois smirked a little at the memory. The nurse _had_ been attractive. "If she keeps improving as quickly as she is, the doctors can let her go tomorrow."

"That's good." Clark relaxed a little. Colletta had been attacked by the parasite monster too, but if she was improving rapidly twelve hours later, then there was every chance that he would bounce back as well.

"Is that a rice cooker?" he asked, noticing the new addition to his countertops.

"Huh? Oh yeah, it's mine. I brought it from home when I saw you didn't have one and let's be honest, stir-fry and naan isn't just the same without rice _-_ -" Lois abruptly made a scandalized face. "No no! I'm not talking domesticity with you! You're _Superman_."

She had the presence of mind to lower her voice for the last sentence so she wasn't shouting it through the walls. His neighbors didn't need to know that tidbit of juicy information.

"I was Clark Kent first." he said. He felt like he had to say it, to assert his identity. He had been a mild-mannered reporter before he had ever swung a cape over his shoulders.

"That's not just the problem here." Lois put in. She had a look of petrified embarrassment. "Everything I said to you! Everything I said _about_ you to your _face_! I was flirting with you by proxy! And you _let_ me say it!"

She had said something pretty... _interesting_ things about Superman to Clark's face. How many times had she commented on Superman's abs and pectorals? To Clark's face. Mentioned Superman's ass? To Clark's face. Made slightly lewd comments about Superman?

Right to Clark's face.

All that time she had been mooning over Superman, Clark must have been busting to hold it in, either too polite or too alarmed to tell her. She had never had the balls to flirt directly to Superman's face, but wouldn't you know, she had done it all anyways.

Because Clark Fucking Kent was Superman.

' _I'd like to pin him up on a corkboard and study him all night'_

The wisp of memory passed by not so fleetingly. The very first time she had seen Superman and _that_ had been the first thought to go through her head. Her face might as well have caught fire for as hot and red as it turned and she slapped her hands over her eyes to block Clark's slightly concerned expression.

He didn't need to know about it. He didn't need to know and he'd never had to know. She was going to take that one right to her grave if she had any say in the matter.

"Lois?" Clark's voice was soft and sympathetic. "I already decided that I wouldn't hold you to your word."

"My word?" Lois repeated, confused, peering between her fingers.

"You said _-_ -" Clark cleared his throat. "Last year, you said that if by some chance I turned out to be an alien, you'd stand naked in Planet Square and hand out cupcakes shaped like butts. I'm not going to hold you to that."

 _That's right, I did say that_.

"Clark. Stop talking one for second and let me finish processing this."

She grabbed another throw pillow from the couch and crammed it over her face, then screamed into it and flailed a little. Clark politely ignored this and gave Krypto some attention instead.

How many times had he been straight up fucking with her? Clark Kent was Superman was Clark Kent and there _must_ have been times that he'd gotten a good laugh or two out of it.

Lois gave herself a moment of quality face-time with the pillow. The world of Clark Kent made a lot more sense now, as did the world of Superman. Having the knowledge of both now, she could see how all the pieces fit together. He had come to her for the interviews because he'd already known her. The judgement he'd trusted so much had been his own. And he'd trusted her, full stop, because he had already seen the best and worst sides of her.

His fast reactions times, his questionable absences when Superman was around, his ability to get to the story before Lois had left her desk. His reluctance to talk about his life prior to Metropolis, his extensive knowledge of her personal schedule, and his "miraculous" timing when it came to scooping her out of danger.

But processing it was one thing and _assimilating_ it was another thing altogether.

Clark Kent the nearsighted farm boy dork who had fake glasses, super-strength, the ability to fly, and a heroic alter-ego that the general populace was coming to adore. Superman was the most visible figure of the past year, trending all over the internet as everyone chattered about the good and the bad. Clark Kent was from a place called Smallville and she still couldn't find it on a map.

It just didn't click.

But maybe that was the _point_. If there was no way Lois Lane ever could have fully connected Superman to Clark Kent without the evidence getting shoved in her face, then there was just no way anyone else could make that connection either. That was the whole point of a secret identity. As long as Superman remained intact, Clark Kent remained safely anonymous.

Didn't stop it from being weird in the slightest, though.

Lois tossed the pillow back onto the couch. "All right, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Some of us were bent over a laptop all afternoon while the rest of us snoozed the daylight away." she said, aiming a pointed look at him.

 _I could hardly help that._ Clark thought, giving a mental eye-roll.

Fresh out of the oven, the naan bread was warm and crispy, the rice fluffy, and the chicken stir-fry pleasantly spicy. Somewhere in the process of retrieving the bowls, Clark felt his stomach issue a plaintive gurgle and decided that he could manage a little bit of dinner. They served themselves and sat down at the table.

"It's good." Clark said of the stir-fry. Plenty spicy; definitely paprika and ginger in there.

"Yeah, I don't do much cooking. It's one of the few things I can make without screwing up." Lois said. "I'll be honest, I mostly order in and then eat the leftovers for dinner the next day _-_ \- You're doing it again!" she shouted, slapping her hands on the table-top.

"Doing what?"

"Domestics!" Lois hissed. "You're distracting me from the issue with your domestic farm boy charm!"

"I'm not _-_ -"

"And I keep falling for it because you make it so easy!"

Clark frowned. "Lois..."

"'Cause I'm sitting here thinking you have such a nice charming little apartment with your ridiculous amounts of Tupperware and coffee mugs and I bet that quilt over there was inherited from a grandparent _-_ -"

"More or less."

"And it's domestic. And I like it!" Lois finished with such emphasis that she was clearly trying to drive home a point, but it was whooshing past Clark's head. Either his brain just wasn't working fast enough or Lois was talking in circles again.

"Home should be comfortable." Clark commented. In the last nine months, he had made his apartment very comfortable.

Lois leaned back into the chair with half a snort and crossed her arms, her demeanor confrontational. "So this is how it's gonna be now? Every time you hear some sirens, you go rip your shirt off and save the day?"

"I don't _rip_ my shirt off." Clark mumbled.

"What did you say?"

"I said I don't _rip_ my shirt off. I'd go through at least two shirts a week like that and they'd add up over time."

Lois made a thoughtful face and then opened her mouth to speak.

"And I don't chase every siren." Clark added, before she could get a word out. "I meet the requirements in some old classification system that technically protects me from legal retaliation, but I'm still just a civilian, so I think if someone wanted to sue me _-_ \- Superman, that is _-_ \- they could probably at least get it to the first level of court. I don't what the judge would do with the case, though. But that old system for superheroes doesn't mean much anymore."

Lois visibly sobered.

"So I try to keep it within a certain boundary. I'm a Good Samaritan, at best. I help when it comes to accidents and fires, but I don't interfere with police investigations. I don't make citizen's arrests. I don't do more than call in anonymous tips. What you saw at the press conference this week is the most I'm willing to do. It's not a great system and I know it's limiting me, but there are lines I shouldn't overstep. I don't have that authority."

Lois picked at her stir-fry. "I see..."

She understood, she really did. There were pockets of people online who complained that Superman was dangerous and that he needed to stop what he was doing, and they were completely blind to the fact that Superman was actually doing very little. Nothing that would put him in very serious trouble with the law. He was being careful not to step on any toes and though no one should have faulted him for that, people still were.

Some people argued that he wasn't doing enough. Some people claimed that he was doing too much.

There used to be paperwork that a superhero could file with the DEO _-_ \- ones that stated they agreed to abide by the Code of Conduct and that should they break the law beyond what the DEO's guidelines permitted, they would submit to the legal process of the courts and undergo a trial by jury. There had just been so many superheroes in the years before the Scare that bureaucracy had been the only way to keep track of them all.

It had also been a legal safety net, that paperwork. In the event the average person **did** take a superhero to court over one thing or another, the DEO's sister organization, the Department of Metahuman Affairs, would comb the incident reports to see if and where the hero had overstepped the lines and how badly. The paperwork assured that superheroes would receive fair and equal representation in a court of law. And the DMHA reminded the general populace that you couldn't just sue a hero all willy-nilly because they had landed in your flowerbeds and that all reports of collateral damage were to be filed with EAGLE. The DMHA had protected the heroes from the people who were just looking to start a fight.

But when both of the departments had shut down, all the paperwork had gone with them. EAGLE still existed, but in a reduced form. Their only concern was Bell Reve Prison and not insurance claims. They would be of no help.

When it came down to it, Superman had no legal protection. No forms to file, no department to file them with, and no relevant legal consultation if someone took him to court.

If it felt like he wasn't doing enough, it was because he was trying not to get sued.

"How long before you were planning to tell me any of this?" Lois wondered.

"I, er... I really didn't have a time-table." Clark admitted. "I didn't go in thinking 'Gee, I should tell Lois Lane, queen of the scoop, that I'm an alien'. Honestly? I thought you'd see through it right away."

"Hmm, I blame that one on my broken wrist." Lois agreed. And the fact that, at the time, she had known Clark less than two months. From her perspective, he had been little more than a dork with a bad tie and ugly glasses. He would _not_ have been the first person to come to mind.

"Okay, so tough question. _Why_? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, then quickly put up a hand to forestall an answer. "And don't say 'it's not you, it's my enemies' because you don't have enemies."

"I'm pretty sure I do."

"No Clark, you really don't."

"Then I've made people very unhappy." Clark said.

"Loud internet trolls with no bite. They don't count." Lois said.

"Lois, you get into enough trouble as it is _-_ -"

"And somehow, you're always there to get me out of it. So in turn, I will bail you out."

"Lois _-_ -"

"None of that, Smallville. I already told you. I'm the only supporting team member you've got and you're stuck with me for better or worse." Lois declared. "And you're Superman." She laughed suddenly. "I'm sorry, that's gonna need a few days before it stops being so weird."

"Why is it weird?" Clark wondered.

"Because if you hadn't gotten sloppy, I never would have suspected you." she pointed out. "You're on the right track with the whole mild-mannered middle American mundanity and playing up the facade of being such a loser that no one would think twice that it's you, but you need better separation between dork farm boy and super heroicus, or Luthor's next."

She waved her fork at him.

"Now eat up. We'll talk compartmentalization after dinner."

Just like that, Lois had made herself president and founder of Team Superman. It was official, in her eyes. Maybe she could talk him into getting T-shirts made.

Clark smiled anyways. He couldn't have gone forever keeping something that big from Lois. She was much too observant and she had been suspecting it for a few weeks already. He wouldn't have lasted another few weeks anyways, so perhaps it was better that it had come out now.

Besides, no superhero even from back in the day had truly worked alone. They had partnered up with other superheroes and most of them had had supporting teams, so this was just keeping with tradition.

* * *

-0-


	15. Chapter 15

It's a Christmas miracle!

I totally meant to have this chapter uploaded on Friday, but stuff happened and now I think I'm coming down with something. I have orange juice and plenty of tea and the family stuff isn't until Friday, but man. Sick over christmas? Gonna suck. If I follow the usual five-day pattern, I'm going to start feeling like garbage tomorrow so if there's gonna be an update, it's gotta be before I go to bed.

Anyways, chapter 26 of this story is almost finished. It's been a little bit of a slog, but it will definitely be finished before the end of the week. I will expound my future plans in an update, probably this coming weekend.

Happy holidays y'all!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen:

The sun was well below the horizon by the time Luthor left his office. He had rounded off some loose ends, did have at least one PR meeting to tidy up the dust from the afternoon, and power-napped until dinner in preparation for the long night ahead of him. There was a lot that could only be done under the cover of darkness.

He swung by the R&D floors on his way down the building to retrieve a very particular item and then stopped at one of the employee break rooms a few more floors down. At nearly ten o'clock at night, it was largely uninhabited. Luthor fancied himself a family man and so encouraged his employees to be out of the building every evening in order to be at home with family or out with their friends. Very few remained in the building after six o'clock and fewer still this late.

The few people in the break room were on the exact opposite side Luthor had entered and they barely glanced up when he walked in. He had no concern about being interrupted. No one walked over and just _started_ a conversation with him, especially not when his personal assistants and bodyguards were around.

Mercy Graves and Hope Taya. Luthor had found them on the streets some years back. Hope couldn't have been more than twelve at the time and Mercy only a year or two older, though she had stoutly claimed to be eighteen and to this day, continued to maintain the illusion of the six-year age gap between her and Hope. An aggressive personality had kept anyone from trying to take advantage of them, but desperation for a better quality of living had allowed them to take his hand.

He didn't know much about them. They didn't know much about them. Retrograde amnesia, possibly trauma induced. They were half-sisters, presumeably with different fathers. That was as much as a DNA test could tell them. When he had finally gotten them to talk about it, they had admitted to finding themselves on the streets with no idea how they had gotten there or where they had come from. Only their names and a vague knowledge of their ages left in their heads. To them, it was like they had walked out of a fog-bank and found themselves in Metropolis.

Luthor had seen to their education and their combat training, despite his father's wishes, which had only served to fuel his desire to put them on the company payroll. They had been strong and fast and very efficient, even as teenagers. Fast enough that Lionel hadn't had the time to process their presence before they had helped him off the balcony four years earlier.

They were his most formidable bodyguards. Few dared to cross them and fewer still walked away.

"Mercy, Hope." Luthor called softly when he was still six feet away. They were loyal to him and him alone, but he had learned very quickly not to approach them from behind without announcing his presence first.

"Yes, Mr. Luthor?" they asked.

"I have a task for you two." he said, gesturing for them to stand. "One that is going to require delicacy and the greatest discretion. I trust you recall our purple friend from this afternoon. I require his presence at a secure location."

"Site B?" Mercy suggested. "That should be sufficient for such an individual."

"Hmm, no. Site C. Have someone clear out the old hydroponics lab and set an electrical current through the window." Luthor instructed. "I do not plan on keeping our purple friend there. We won't need to hold him long. Just until we've obtained his cooperation."

"Yessir."

"You will need this." Luthor presented the lead box he had picked up from R&D. "Unless I'm mistaken, our purple friend still has in his possession a chunk of Superman's powers. The content of this box does efficiently render Superman ineffective so I would imagine that it would have the same effect on anyone in possession of his powers and therefore, his weaknesses as well. But if for some reason it has no effect, do not get yourselves hurt. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Luthor." Hope and Mercy said, performing the chest-tap head-bow gesture. Hope took the lead box.

"Good. And do be discreet. I don't want to alarm anyone." Luthor said. "And is General Lane still in the building?"

"Yessir, he has not left."

"Excellent. Contact me when the asset is secure." Luthor turned on his heel and left the break room. Hope and Mercy would get the job done by midnight, he was sure. They were extraordinarily clever like that.

He rode the elevator down to the thirty-ninth floor, the hospital wing. Even with the safety protocols, injuries were all but inevitable. Having a hospital wing meant that the minor injuries could be treated on-site at no cost to the employee and for the major ones, the patient could be stabilized quickly for an airlift to a proper hospital in New Troy. A few minutes meant all the difference between life and death.

When the doctors were not treating the various cuts and chemical burns that often came with working in laboratories, they spent their days improving on medical advancements, so that LexCorp was ahead of the curve. They were quite skilled individuals, but there was a limit to even their expertise.

Sergeant Corben looked like he might shuffle off the mortal coil at any second.

He had been out of surgery for just thirty minutes. Bones had been reset, the internal bleeding capped off, the ruptures in his intestines closed. A machine did the breathing for him. Another machine kept his heart going. His body was in too bad a shape to expect the heart and lungs to keep it up for long on their own. He had been taken straight in an intensive care room and where his body didn't have bandages, there were sensors monitoring every vital output.

"He's going to die." General Lane commented from where he stood beside Luthor at the viewing window. "Your doctors have an optimistic estimate of forty-eight hours, but he could kick off any time before then."

"You sound very much like your daughter, General." Luthor noted.

He'd had an exceptionally hard time initially believing that this man was the father of Lois Lane; the two couldn't have been more _different_. General Lane stood for order and decorum while Lois thrived on chaos and calamity. General Lane lived by the rules whereas Lois bucked them when she could get away with it ("She gets it from her mother." General Lane would wearily tell anyone who inquired).

And then there were the moments that pointedly reminded him that Lois was indeed the general's daughter.

"Sergeant Corben is made of tougher stuff than the average person." Luthor added.

"Maybe so, but even if he pulls through on some slim miracle, paraplegia will be the least of his worries." General Lane pointed out. "There's so much swelling all down his spine. Your doctors were certain there's a break somewhere, but they won't be able to tell until the inflammation is gone. They were also discussing the possibilities of permanent brain damage, among other forms of impairment. Corben might pull through, but he won't be the same."

"Then we will mourn the loss of a great man."

"Well, there's a problem if he dies. As of this moment, he was the only trainee who qualified for the program. The other hopefuls are still undergoing preliminary evaluations."

"Ah, that is a problem." Luthor agreed. The evaluation process for the program was three months long, with a further eight months of training. Any new cadets wouldn't be on the scene until this time next year.

"I want him to survive." General Lane stated. "Even if they only thing we can save is his mind."

The businessman nodded. "We have several options available to explore. I have already sent for the least invasive one. I don't know if it will work, but it might keep him alive long enough for us to implement the more invasive ones." he explained. "It will take some time to gather the required materials for the first option, so you had best hope that the sergeant makes it through tomorrow night."

General Lane raised a singularly skeptical eyebrow, which made his resemblance to his daughter that much more pronounced.

"You'd best hope Sergeant Corben survives, Mr. Luthor, or this is on your head." he said. "Or I may just be inspired to vote against the renewal of your contracts."

"I understand, General, I understand, but you have nothing to worry about." Luthor said calmingly.

"Luthor. I'm going to make one thing unerringly clear." General Lane began in a very no nonsense tone. He wasn't done driving this in yet. "Project: Metallo. John Corben has been at the front of this from day one. From the very second we conceived this, Sergeant Corben was the clear man for the job. It was approved because of his involvement. We save Corben or Project: Metallo goes under like it never was."

"I do know what that means for me, General. You have nothing to worry about." Luthor assured him. "What I am most interested in with regards to the sergeant's condition is how he came to be in this state. I saw what happened, but that's only half the story."

"I've been having my people look into it." General Lane said. "As far as I can tell, it was just a series of unfortunate events."

"Do tell."

"There was a fire last night at S.T.A.R. Labs that killed one guard and badly burnt another. This morning, the lab performed a security check _-_ \- standard procedure. They checked the labs, they checked the storage rooms, etcetera, to make sure the fire wasn't set as a diversion. Surprise, surprise, an item was missing from one of the storage rooms."

"Do they have any suspected culprits?"

"A night janitor named Rudolph Jones. He'd been assigned to that sector of the complex since the beginning of the month." General Lane explained. "And surprise, surprise, he's missing as well. It's been presumed that he's since skipped town, but I think you and I both know that's not true."

Luthor nodded. Rudolph Jones, most likely the man behind that purple behemoth. The only person unnaccounted for. "And the missing item?"

"You're probably already aware that the government has used STAR to store a few out-dated experiments that are nonetheless still sensitive. They're safer there than a government store-house because no one would think to look for them there." the general replied. He plucked the cap off his head and ran his fingers through his hair before re-settling the cap. "A vat of experimental chemical gel. It was developed in the late eighties by STORM as an anti-metahuman measure."

"Obviously not successful." Luthor had been young during the Scare, but he had been connected. He had heard nothing of chemical agents being used against metahumans. Just other metahumans.

"Obviously." General Lane agreed, somewhat sourly. "If the formula had been perfected, it would have replaced Ignus and Fatuus."

"You know, General, I have heard their names many times before, but I still don't know who they are." Luthor commented. He would have gone fishing for information on the deep web if he thought there was something to find. Information like that had been scrubbed long before the internet had launched.

"Does it matter? They were first cousins married to each other with a host of inbred children and vile people to boot. They both practically killed themselves. Ignus had a heart attack because he loved grease and fat too much, and Fatuus drank so much that she died from liver failure." General Lane replied, scowling. "They were metahumans themselves. They had the ability to absorb metapowers. Long enough exposure and they could permanently strip the power away."

"Fascinating. No one else in the family had this power?" Luthor wondered.

General Lane shook his head, but the true answer was the opposite. The bulk of the family was still very much alive. All of them had had that power and they had done their best to keep it "in the family", hence why Ignus and Fatuus were first cousins. Both had been a little inbred themselves, resulting in vague stupidity and a pair of cruel minds.

The first time he had gone to visit them, to assess and evaluate their usefulness, had been years ago. Nineteen eighty-six, as he recalled. A crumpled, ramshackle house on the edge of town, nowhere near big enough for the family of eight who had occupied it. Window frames falling out, the door askew, the front path less a path and more a tract of spiny weeds. He remembered doubting the presence of hot water and electricity, and sincerely doubting the rickety structure's ability to withstand anything stronger than a light breeze.

Ignus and Fatuus had initially panicked at the sight of him and had kept him waiting on the cracked doorstep for five minutes while they had made no secret of tearing around the house screaming at the top of their lungs. He had watched six kids be shuttled out the side door into the overgrown yard, ranging from thirteen years old to roughly two years old.

Once he had had the opportunity to explain his presence at their hovel (dimly lit, horribly decorated, a bit dusty, but otherwise remarkably clean having had four children under the age of ten in there) and outlined the potential job for them, the parents had proudly introduced him to their inbred spawn. General Lane had been greeted by three boys and three girls. Five pairs of dull, stupid eyes had stared at him with utter disinterest and the sixth a bit more lively, once he had gotten the youngest boy to meet his gaze.

Looking adults in the eye, apparently, had been against some manner of rule that the others weren't beholden to. General Lane hadn't even looked away before Ignus had slapped the toddler so hard that the boy was knocked off his feet and dragged back into the house for being "disrespectful to the army man". Fatuus had waved it off in an alarmingly unconcerned manner, stating that the boy was too young to come into his power anyways and then had cheerfully prompted the other children to show the army man what they could do.

The ability certainly ran in the overly incestuous veins of the family. The four oldest children had produced dull blue-bottle flames of varying size and intensity, while the fifth child had managed a handful of sparks. Too young to really do it properly, General Lane had been informed, but he was showing promise.

It was the first and last act of abuse General Lane had witnessed on that sixth child. It was also the first and last time he had seen that sixth child. As if suddenly embarrassed, Ignus and Fatuus had taken to making their youngest boy vanish whenever General Lane made any further visits. After the paychecks of the first few missions had been cashed and the family had moved into a bigger house, he suspected the boy had been spending his visits in the basement.

He hoped the boy had gotten himself into a better life as an adult.

Their utter inability to sympathize with other metahumans had been made them ideal for the job _-_ \- indeed, they had believed themselves superior due to the nature of their powers and every other metahuman was so far beneath them that even ants looked down upon them. But the cloying arrogance and pride, and the short tempers had made them very difficult to work with. Compounded upon the fact that they had kept bringing their eldest two children along on most of the jobs. General Lane didn't approve of child soldiers, but firing the adults would have been impossible. They were just too valuable and they had known it without question.

So the eldest two kids had kept showing up at the briefings and their parents gleefully taught them how to properly use their powers to hurt a person.

It had been a glorious day indeed when General Lane had been able to stroll up to their house and inform them that the Scare was over and the government had no more use for them. One generous severance check later, he had walked away with a lighter spring in his step than ever before.

Ignus, Fatuus, and at least three of their eldest children were dead now, the latters' causes of death unknown. General Lane didn't know how many members of the extended family were left, but he'd rather not give Luthor any incentive to hunt them down and bring them into his employ. That was the best choice for everyone.

"So, this formula," Luthor began, bringing the general's thoughts back around to the matter at hand. "It was not perfected in time?"

"No, the formula wasn't perfected at all. The few metahumans it was tested on caught fire. The chemicals were too volatile and we couldn't figure out how to balance it in time." General Lane shook his head. "And if what it did to Mr. Jones is any indication, it was never going to work."

 _I wouldn't say that._ Luthor thought. It could slow down Superman. There was opportunity there!

"I have my best men out searching for Mr. Jones right now." General Lane went on. "Once he has been brought into custody, he will be interrogated, studied, and executed for dissection, if need be. Either way, he is too dangerous to be permitted to wander freely. I trust, Mr. Luthor, that you take no issue with this."

"Of course not. Thank you for indulging my curiosity." Luthor said sincerely. If there was anything left of that gel that could be salvaged, the modern-day advancements might make it viable. Humanity would want a defense against the metahuman threat. Something that he could market as a deterrent would do wonders for their confidence.

Because the general's men were never going to find Rudolph Jones or whatever he had become. Mercy and Hope would be quicker, more silent, stealthier. Their ability to track was second to none. They would pinpoint the purple beast's location long before the general's men even had an idea what direction they should start heading in.

They operated so quickly and efficiently that Luthor was willing to put money on the estimate that they would return, with Rudy Jones in tow, in five hours or less.

* * *

He was right, of course.

At a quarter to midnight, he received a text from Mercy that simply read "Site C".

Hope and Mercy were far too efficient even for the likes of General Lane's so-called "best men". In the ten years since Luthor had taken them in, the ladies had never let him down.

Luthor made his way down to Site C, which was down the peninusula more than forty minutes away from Metropolis by helicopter. It was one of four shadow sites less than two hours from the city. He had established them years ago, as to have somewhere away from the prying eyes of his father. He had other sites, further out across the United States in unobtrusive places such as down old mine shafts and missile silos. Places that were secret and hidden, where the average person was not permitted to tread.

It was good to have a few bolt-holes to run to, if things got hot.

Site C was located up the waterfront towards Wisconsin, more than two hundred feet underneath a lake-house that Luthor had purchased as a vacation home. The site itself was somewhat defunct - formerly a lab for the cultivation of genetically modified vegetable crops until they had proven their theories enough to go public with the discoveries. The site had been mostly empty ever since, but it could be fixed up at a moment's notice.

Luthor's private chopper landed on the pad and the businessman made swift tracks up to the cobbled path to the house itself. It was a modern confection of glass walls and concrete reinforcement. Opulent, sumptuous, because he was used to living in luxury.

He didn't even bother to take in any of the sights and crossed the main rooms to the master bedroom in record time. The secret elevator was hidden in a linen cupboard in the master bathroom; the last place anyone would think to look for secret elevators. He let the scanner investigate his handprint and the shelves full of towels and bedsheets slid down into the floor and out the way. The wooden panel backing parted, revealing the gleaming steel doors of the elevator. They dinged open, reveaing a singularly non-descript interior. Luthor stepped inside and pressed the bottom-most button on the panel.

The ride down was short, but he took the opportunity to straighten his tie, brush imaginary dust from the sleeves of his suit, and ran his hands over his bald scalp as though he still had hair. He used to _-_ \- long lustruous lock of fiery red that his mother would stroke lovingly until she had succumbed to the clinical depression she had tried to deny having. He had lost it all one day when he was nine, when an explosion of chemicals had showered him. Experimental pesticides, proven harmless to humans, and the lab techs had gotten him scrubbed down within ten minutes of the accident, but his hair had still started coming out in great big clumps. Lionel had had his son's hair sheared down to nothing so the sudden bald patches didn't look so odd. They would "wait for it to grow back in".

It never had.

Luthor had long since grown used to his look and he wore it well. It made him distinguished and perhaps stately. He didn't have to worry about the routine of hair care and certainly dandruff was a thing of the past.

The elevator deposited him on the upper-most level of the underground facility. It was three floors deep, but with a skeleton crew, only the top floor was in full use. Mercy was waiting for him in the lobby. She looked ruffled, her short hair a bit askew, streaks of dirt across her clothes, and her military surplus boots crusted in mud.

"How did it go?" Luthor asked

"It was an interesting challenge." Mercy replied, gesturing for him to follow. "We found the creature attempting to flee down one of the old copper mines. Hope _encouraged_ the collapse of a structural support beam."

"Creature? Hmm, Mercy, I think we will need to find a different description for this fine new associate of ours." Luthor suggested. "'Creature' is such a... a primitive word. It implies too much instinctual mindlessness."

The blonde-haired woman made a thoughtful face.

"Did the item work?" Luthor inquired.

"Yes." Mercy replied in a vague tone of surprise. Clearly she had been doubting its effectiveness.

"Excellent."

They made their way down the corridor, passing the empty labs and the break room where the half-dozen scientists had been shooed to. At the end of the corridor was the old hydroponics lab where Hope stood guard outside the door. She was similarly ruffled and the splashes of mud went up to her knees. Unlike her half sister, she sported several scrapes that had yet to be cleaned.

"Hope?" Luthor raised an eyebrow.

"Sir, I'm uninjured." Hope informed him. She opened the door and gestured him in.

The lab hadn't been cleared of its equipment, but left covered in dusty tarps. On the far side was a sealed room that could be climate controlled, mostly for the purpose of tropical fruits that couldn't be grown at this northerly latitude. It had solar lights which weren't on, but Luthor could still clearly see the mutated thing that Rudy Jones had become, sprawled out on the floor in an unconscious heap. Luthor strolled over to the viewing window, noted the faint scent of ozone in the air, and then flicked the exterior switch for the lights.

There was no immediate reaction, but after a good twenty seconds of the lights gleaming hot and yellow, the purple monster's flat eyes snapped open. Groaning, it lumbered to its feet, a hand to its head. Then it turned around to see what the room was about and saw the businessman on the other side of the window.

"Luthor!" it rumbled and made an additional noise like a bulldozer being dragged across gravel.

"Good evening." Luthor said pleasantly.

"You'll pay!" the monster bellowed and threw itself at the window, only to bounce right off amid a sharp crackle of electricity.

"Oh, careful there." Luthor warned, giving a little smile. "This is a transparent aluminum hybrid. Just conductive enough that we can put a current through it. Very helpful for containing belligerant or naturally aggressive subjects."

"Subjects?!" the monster repeated, eyes bulging. "Is that what I am to you!? A lab experiment?!"

It would have banged a fist on the window, but it remembered the electricity, so it hit the wall instead.

"Oh no, you see, I had nothing to do with the accident that turned you into this." Luthor said assuringly. "But I am very intrigued by your transformation, so I believe that you may be able to help me. Just so I'm clear, you are Rudolph Jones?"

The monster snorted. "Not anymore."

"But you _were_ Rudolph Jones, yes? Once upon a time?"

"It's the name I woke up with on Friday, but Saturday..."

"I see." Luthor nodded, the picture of sympathetic understanding. "What would you like to be called now?"

The monster thought for a moment, looking at its huge hands apparently for inspiration. "Call me 'Parasite'."

"Very well." Luthor cleared his throat. "Now, like I said, I was not responsible for your condition, but I am very intrigued by it. It is my understanding that you were doused with an experimental chemical gel that was meant to strip a metahuman of their power."

"I'm not a metahuman. Never was." Parasite said. "Would of known if I was something _that_ special."

Luthor hadn't had much time to do research on Rudy Jones, but what he had been able to uncover was telling enough. Bad student, stellar athlete, and rejected by every college in three state states. A low-paid janitor since he was twenty-one. Desperate enough to help a thief into S.T.A.R. Labs.

Desperate enough to help **him**.

"Yes, on you it seemed to have had the opposite effect. With no power to strip, it gave you one instead. You have been imbued with the ability to temporarily absorb another metahuman's powers." the businessman went on. "What I want is to study your new abilities and help you understand them in order for you to use them more effectively. And then, perhaps, a cure?"

"A cure?" Parasite laughed, a rough rocky sound. "I don't wanna be cured! Look at me! I stole Superman's powers! I turned him into a sniveling weakling!"

"Yes, you did. But it won't last." Luthor said, cutting that grating laugh short.

"Wha...?"

"That cop you attacked Friday night is well on her way to full recovery. She has regained her strength and will be released in the morning, back to work on Monday." Luthor elaborated. "It would seem there is a limit to how long this weakness lasts. I imagine that Superman will be back to full strength by tomorrow morning as well."

"Fine. I'll just drain him again." Parasite declared, crossing his arms.

"I don't believe Superman will be caught off guard like the first time." Luthor pointed out. The Man of Steel acted a bit naive, but no one who played at superhero was really that dumb. "Let me re-phrase my offer. Perhaps not a cure in full, but a way to reverse the physical mutation? To get you looking like your old self again while still keeping the absorption ability."

"Hmm..." Parasite rumbled, judging the merits of looking like himself again. He didn't exactly blend in and he was already lamenting that there was no way he could go see a movie without getting the cops called in.

"I wanna keep the powers." he said at last. "I finally got a way to get back at the world and everyone that fucked me over and I'm not losing that. But if I'm gonna sit around and let your eggheads poke me, I want my compensation. I want Superman."

"Then we have much in common." Luthor lied flatteringly. There was some ego-stroking to be done. "Superman owes me my pound of flesh as well, but it's been hard to get it from him. There are just too many people who fawn over him."

Parasite grunted. "Tell me about it."

"Bring me Superman, I'll take the one little thing I need from him, and then you can have him as a meal ticket to your heart's content." the businessman offered. "If you'd like to hunt him down, the thrill of the chase, we'll let him go and you can terrorize him across the city. If you want him chained up on the wall in your accomodations, we can do that too."

Parasite chuckled. "Sounds fun, but kinda creepy. Let him go afterwards. It's more fun when you get to watch the big ones squirm. Think they're so powerful and then they find out they're not."

"Indeed it is." Luthor agreed, gesturing for Mercy to go unlock the door. "There is a lot you and I need to do, if we are to bring Superman down to earth where he belongs. We should get started right away."

* * *

-0-


End file.
